The Fallen
by DeansBabyBird
Summary: Folowing a hunt with Sam and Jo Harvelle, an injured Dean is abducted by a daemon and Sam and Jo along with the help of 3 mysterious strangers must race against the clock to find him before the daemon realises his plans for the hurt man.
1. Chapter 1

**The Fallen by DeansBabyBird**

Chapter One: Nine foot babies and snow flurries

Dean scowled down at Jo as he stood beside the table fastening up his jacket. He felt tired and this was the last thing he needed. He dug into his pocket for the keys for the Impala and snatched them into his hand. Their familiarity felt good but he was still out of sorts, off balance somehow. His voice was quiet as he addressed Jo, barely hiding his irritation, but not wanting the few remaining customers in the bar to hear him.

'Now do you believe me that although he's 9ft tall, and mean as hell when he needs to be, he's a baby when it comes to holding his liquor?'

For emphasis, Dean waved his hand vehemently at Sam, who was sprawled across one whole side of the booth the three of them had occupied for the past few hours, since finishing the hunt they'd been working on all week. Sam was smiling up cheerfully at Dean and giggling into his empty beer glass, utterly unconcerned by his older sibling's anger.

'Didn't I tell you not to give him another bottle? Now I'm gonna have to carry his heavy ass to the car!' Dean snarked

The silly smile on the younger hunter's face, and the significant quantity of alcohol warming her blood threatened to spread Sam's fit of giggles to Jo, but the look of annoyance on Dean's face sobered her enough to hold them in check.

'Come on Dean!'

Jo's voice was soft and placatory, and somewhat slurred, as she got up feeling just a little wobbly on her legs, and stood next to the older hunter. Dean continued to fuss distractedly with the zip of his heavy jacket, muttering and shaking his head, refusing to acknowledge his hunt mate at all.

She nudged up to him, stretching up a little to rest her shoulder comfortably against his, and he glanced at her but said nothing, so she did it again and the nudge became a wholesale lean, as her balance wavered a little.

She felt Dean stiffen to support her weight and he turned towards her and caught her shoulders gently to steady her. She smiled up at him, with slightly unfocussed eyes, and was rewarded with a marginal softening of his scowl.

'It been a long week, and we all needed to wind down. That was a bitch of a poltergeist and Sam was just celebrating kicking its ass. Don't be mad!'

Jo's words became a playful whine and she held Dean's eyes with her own as she spoke, and after a stubborn 2 or 3 seconds he blinked his long lashes, and rolled his eyes. Try as he might it was difficult to remain angry with the petite blond who had fought alongside him with a ferocity matching his own. They both looked back down at Sam, who was now curled up on his side, humming softly and waving a big hand at no-one in particular.

Jo watched as Dean's face softened and she felt the tension ease in his body where it touched hers. He smiled in spite of himself, a warm soft smile that made him look much younger than his 29 years, and Jo could hear the humour in his voice when he spoke.

'All right Jo, you win, but I think our 9ft baby's ready for bed!'

Jo laughed at Dean's observation and smiling, playfully nudged further against him with her hip.

Dean's smile disappeared quickly as the movement forced by Jo's light push was just that little bit more than he was ready for, and his injured ribs jolted painfully. A small hiss of air escaped his lips as he fought to manage the pain and he felt sweat prickly against his shirt as he swayed a little on his feet. Jo watched his hazel eyes close briefly as he fought to regain both his position and composure. She felt her alcohol fog begin to recede sharply.

Quickly Jo reran the last week through her head searching for a reason for Dean's pain. The job had not been a particularly difficult one but it had been a very aggressive poltergeist and Dean had suffered the brunt of its violence before they'd managed to subdue it. He'd not given any indication that he was anything other than fine but then she knew that Dean was unlikely to say anything even if he was hurting real bad. She put her hand on his arm to make him look at her and Dean's vivid hazel eyes opened and hesitantly met her brown ones.

'You ok?'

There was concern in Jo's voice as she spoke, not to mention more than a little guilt as she realised she had totally failed to notice that although Dean had laughed along with them for the past few hours, he hadn't been as engaged in the conversation as he might, had hardly touched his beer and had sat quite rigidly upright in the booth as they had talked. Twice she and Sam had challenged him to a game of pool, and though he would normally delight in whipping their butts and taking their money, he had declined on both occasions. When Sam had pressed him the second time, Dean had eventually snapped at his brother so markedly that Sam had backed off sulkily.

Jo took in the dark circles under Deans eyes and suddenly saw how tired he looked. She felt the alcohol induced warmth fade completely to be replaced by increasing guilt that she hadn't noticed his fatigue and discomfort before. He was her friend and colleague. She relied totally on him and Sam when they hunted, as they did on her, and she had failed to see his pain. She wanted to kick herself!

Yet even taking all that into consideration, Jo was surprised and disturbed at the intensity of the knot in her stomach that the realisation that he was in pain caused her. She wondered if she would feel as intently if it were Sam standing hurt in front of her and she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. She shook herself and sought to cover her sudden embarrassment in activity so Dean wouldn't see it.

She squeezed his arm a little tighter, to gain his attention.

'I'm fine Jo'

Dean's voice was so soft, she could hardly hear him, and he held Jo's eyes for just a second or two before turning back to look at Sam.

Those few seconds made her heart race more than a little, and she felt her blush intensify. The unanticipated feelings surprised and excited her.

Jo was drawn back from her musings as she realised Dean had spoken, and was looking at her quizzically for an answer.

The older man inclined his head towards his gently snoring brother

'Let's get sleeping beauty up and back to the motel, he can sleep it off there. He's gonna have a monster headache in the morning!'

There was a certain glee in Dean's observation and Jo grinned in agreement with the unhappy prediction, wondering only briefly if she would similarly regret the liquid excesses of the evening.

'Hey Sasquatch! ...Up and in the car'

Dean spoke loudly enough to gain Sam's attention and the tall hunter smiled and looked with bleary eyes through his long brown tousled hair at his brother. Dean beckoned him up with a curled finger though Sam made no effort to rise, merely raised his arms up to his brother, as a child would to a parent to be picked up.

Dean tutted under his breath, shaking his head at his inebriated 25 year old brother, and raised an ironic eyebrow as he glanced at Jo. She in turn fought to keep her face straight as Dean made to reach towards his enormous 'baby' brother.

Jo released Dean's arm as the older hunter bent over the booth's table, grabbing Sam's wrists and slowly leaned back, using his body weight as a lever to pull a reluctant Sam into an upright position. Sam grunted in response as he rose unsteadily from his sprawl, but was little help in the manoeuvre as the alcohol coursing through his system had turned his long legs to something like jelly and his brain to cotton candy.

'Let me help Dean, he's heavy!'

Jo moved in closer and Dean released one of Sam's arms for her to take, grateful for the help, but due to the residual alcohol in her system her timing was a little off, and she failed to connect with Sam's flailing limb. Consequently, Sam's full 6ft 4inch toppled slowly and comically from the semi erect position to which Dean had dragged him, back over to reconnect unceremoniously with the seat he had just vacated. Empty beer bottles flew all over the floor as he tumbled. The eyes of the remaining bar patrons following the noise to laugh at the spectacle.

The lanky hunter remained however, firmly latched onto Dean's wrist as he tumbled, pulling his struggling brother violently forward, and slamming him heavily into the wooden side of the booth.

Sam giggled loudly from his regained flat out posture on the bench seat, and Jo couldn't help her face crinkling into a smile at the silliness of the situation. She looked towards Dean with interest to see his take on Sam's drunken antics, expecting to see his handsome face crease into the easy laughter she so loved. However as Jo made eye contact with Dean, her smile disappeared immediately, as she realised that the relatively minor knock he had received had hurt him considerably.

The older hunter was gripping the seat back with his right hand, swaying on his feet, gasping. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut and his left arm was pressed to his side. He was groaning softly under his breath.

Jo put her hand gently but urgently against Dean's back, and moved round him as he clung to the back of the seat, so she could see his face. It was a few seconds before he managed to open his eyes and look at Jo.

'You're hurt!'

It wasn't a question but a statement as Jo could see Dean was in pain from the dilation of his pupils, making his vivid green eyes almost black. Dean shook his head to dismiss Jo's concern but the fact that he still couldn't catch his breath enough to speak, belied his denial. Jo felt her heart beat quicken, and she had to fight to keep panic from rising in her chest.

She put her hand over his where it was pressed to his ribs and felt him jerk under her touch, his breath hiccupping with the pain. She moved her hand away from his side to the zip of his jacket and gently opened the coat, pushing it and Deans hand away, so she could assess his injuries.

Though there were mud stains from the fight with the poltergeist on Dean's old once-white T- shirt, Jo was relieved to see that there was no blood. She grasped the bottom of the T and carefully pulled the shirt up; exposing his torso, knowing that Dean's lack of objection to her actions spoke volumes for his current pain. Jo sucked in her breath as she saw the major bruising already showing against the hunters pale skin.

The dark patterning ran all the way down his hip below the waist band of his jeans, up his side under his raised T-shirt and right across to his belly button, but the worst of the livid mottling was in one concentrated patch just at the base of his rib cage. Jo placed her hand, with extreme care over the patch and pressed very gently. The skin on the older hunters tight abdomen was hot to the touch, and she could feel him shaking slightly with the pain.

Jo noted with rising embarrassment how Dean's trembling strangely matched the shaking of her own hand.

Jo's gently probing increased the steady pulse of pain Dean was experiencing, to a sickening throb and he knew instinctively that at least some of the ribs on his left side were broken, a legacy of his earlier rough handling from the poltergeist. He pulled his gritty eyes open and wrapped his hand over Jo's to halt her exploration of his injuries. As he spoke his voice was a hesitant breathy whisper.

'D ..Don't...Jo!'

Jo felt a frustrating mixture of compassion and anger as she looked into Dean's pain-dulled hazel eyes.

'Why didn't you say?'

Her voice was harsher than she meant it to be, her concern for him manifesting as anger, and she was horrified to see him flinch physically from her words of reproach. Dean looked away from her back at Sam, who lay where he had fallen, oblivious to their heated exchange, his tired hazel eyes suddenly not wanting to hold her accusing brown.

'It didn't ...hurt so much... when we were sat... down'

Dean was breathless, his voice still hiccupping in pain, and Jo was aware how vulnerable his statement made him sound and how he would hate that she could see that. He masked his feelings in movement, struggling to try and pull his T-shirt down over his battered body, but the motion pulled at his side and he couldn't manage to tug the shirt from where she rolled it up. He stopped, gasping softly in pain, suddenly defeated, and murmured.

'Besides... I didn't want to break up the evening'

Dean raised his eyes to Jo, his long lashes accentuating the pools of luminous green, and she shook her head and smiled at him, unable to remain angry when she saw his pain. She reached gently to him, and he fidgeted in embarrassment as she very carefully eased his shirt to settle it over his bruised ribs.

Feeling the need to dissipate the tension and take control, Jo looked from the older hunter to Sam assessing the situation. Dean managed to straighten up just a little as he waited for her to speak again, the sharp pain in his ribs beginning to recede back to just a fierce ache.

'OK!'

Jo took hold of the edges of Dean's coat, being careful to avoid jolting his sore ribs, and zipped it part way back up, then grabbed her own coat and quickly threw her arms into the sleeves. She reached purposefully towards Dean's right hand for the car keys hanging from his fingers.

'Here's the plan! I'll help you across to the car and then I'll drive her up to the door and come back in for Sam...'

'Whoa there!'

Dean's voice found some of its usual energy and he managed to stand away from the seat back, swaying just a little, holding the keys out of her reach. His face held a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

'You can't drive the Impala!'

To Dean it was such an obvious statement of fact, and Jo felt herself bristle at the amusedly patronising look on his still pale face. She found herself easily forgetting his pain as her anger rose.

'And why not?'

Dean watched with mounting horror as the tiny blond hunter squared up to him, and he was acutely aware that he had offended her. Jo, in turn, watched the interplay of emotions flit across his handsome face as he searched for a suitable response. Jo raised her eyebrows at him in a worryingly confrontational manner, and Dean finally mumbled out

''coz ...you're a girl!'

And immediately grimaced in embarrassment at how lame the statement sounded.

Jo stared at Dean, enjoying his discomfort in the hastily offered childish statement, but he refused to meet her gaze and but still held the car keys determinedly out of her reach. They stood in awkward silence for a second or two, Jo eventually breaking the stalemate.

'OK, so you wanna drag him all the way across the car park, in that?'

She indicated to the bar's window with her left hand, pulling her glove onto her right. Dean turned, slowly and stiffly to look out, and was surprised to see driving snow falling, and a heavy coating of white on the few cars parked outside.

It had been bitterly cold when they had entered but the sky had been clear and moon bright. He looked back at Jo, a look of consternation on his face, but before he could say anything more Sam broke the silence by choosing that moment to slowly sit up, his shaky hands going to his face.

'Dean?'

Sam's voice was whiney and rather plaintive. Both Jo and Dean looked down at the tall hunter. His face was pale and he was sweating a little.

' Don't feel so good,...maybe gonna puke ... can we go?'

Dean and Jo looked at each other, their argument forgotten and Dean stretched his hand down to cup Sam's chin. He raised the younger man's face and saw the drunken giddiness had faded completely, Dean suspected to be replaced before very long with the distress that would accompany an unpleasant bought of alcohol induced vomiting. Any anger at his brother was instantly lost, concern for hisSam as always, becoming Dean's primary emotion.

'Sure we can Sam.'

Dean's voice was soft and soothing, unconsciously wanting to comfort his brother even though Sam's predicament was self induced.

'I was just gonna fetch the car round 'cause it's snowing like a bitch out there and I don't think you are in any shape to walk to the other side of the car park. Can you stand up there Dude?'

Sam looked pathetically up at his brother, and Jo saw Dean begin to move to help Sam up, oblivious to his own injuries in the face of Sam's needs. She quickly caught his arm and gave Dean a look of exasperation. Dean halted his reach for Sam, and grinned sheepishly at Jo. It was a disarming smile, but beneath it there was still a look of determination that told her there was still no way Dean would relinquish the keys for the Impala to her. She smiled to herself at his macho stubbornness, but playing the game, maintained the air of outraged offence.

'Okay!'

She hissed.

'**You** go get the car and I'll help Sam to the door.'

Her look suggested she would brook no disagreement and Dean found he was impressed and intimidated in equal measure. He covered any emotion his face might have given away by mumbling

'Boy, you're bossy!'

And turning to walk with a slow pained gait for the door, as Jo manhandled a fragile Sam to his feet.

Though Jo couldn't see it, Dean was smiling, his pale green eyes thoughtfully as he walked away.

The cold air and swirling snow hit Dean like a fist as he exited the warmth of the bar, stripping the smile from his handsome face and instantly chilling him to the bone. Waves of dizziness assaulted him, making his head swim, and it was a real struggle to get down the three steep steps to the car park, without falling on his ass.

He stood for a second holding onto the handrail, waiting for the rising feeling of nausea to abate and for the pain in his side to calm from a newly raging fire to something more tolerable. He tried to breathe slowly and glanced about self consciously as he clung to the handrail. After a few seconds the pain subsided a little and Dean sighed in relief, he glanced through the window, back into the bar to see if Jo had seen him struggling, but she was preoccupied with a considerable struggle of her own and had not.

Even through the driving snow, Dean could see his giant of a brother was on his feet, being manhandled slowly, but with determination and great purpose, across the bar by Jo. She had hold of various bit of his clothing and was propelling him doggedly towards the same door Dean had exited. Sam's earlier pallor had changed to a distinctly green hue and Dean smiled in spite of his pain, admiring the strength the tiny girl had.

'Atta girl, Jo!'

He whispered, smiling into the darkness as he recommenced his painful shuffle towards the Impala.

The black eyes of the Daemon watched in disbelief at its good fortune as its quarry emerged alone from the bar to walk tentatively through the snow. He had imagined having to take on the formidable combination of the hunter's younger brother, and the troublesome girl they now seemed to have associated with them, before he could get his hands on the injured hunter, but here he was walking straight into the daemon's welcoming embrace, and from the hesitancy of the boys gait he could see he was already significantly weakened.

He pushed away his sense of disappointment thinking this would be easier than he had anticipated. He felt cheated, whilst at the same time relieved that his quest would soon be over.

He pushed his consciousness towards the hunter and felt the delicious grinding of broken bone in the hunter's ribs, the dizziness and nausea, his overwhelming tiredness and the flush of fever that made him sweat even in the freezing night air. Good, the pain was dulling his senses, and would make surprising him easier. The daemon rose and moved on snow -silenced feet towards his prey.

Relief washed over Dean as he reached the Impala, and he slid his left hand from his battered ribs to cling onto the roof and steady himself as he struggled against the shaking of his hand to put the key into the lock. Each step in the slippery snow had jarred at his broken ribs and the ache had flared to become a burning, jaw-clenching throb that now threatened to make him sick. He just wanted to throw up, lie down and sleep preferably in that order!

'Sorry baby'

His teeth chattered both with the cold and developing fever as he opened the heavy door, hearing its familiar and reassuring creak.

'Sorry for leaving you in the snow!'

Dean was praying to feel warmer as he moved slowly to climb into his beloved car but he was stilled by a sudden sense of even deeper coldness, and he realised with mounting dread that this was not the driving snow chilling him to the bone. Indeed no natural cold manifested like this.

He felt himself begin to panic knowing in his weakened state he was in no shape to protect himself, let alone Sam and Jo. He turned, squinting against the stinging snow flurries, desperately seeking the source of the bitter daemonic chill.

The daemon stood immediately behind Dean, easily within striking distance. He was an imposing man, impeccably dressed in a long grey cashmere overcoat, his waist length black hair flowing behind him in the wind. The daemon's black eyes took in the hunter's pain- hunched stance, the sheen of sweat on his forehead and rapid breathing and he smiled - a smile of pure evil.

Panic turned swiftly to terror as Dean took in the black eyes of the man before him and recognised him for what he was. The injured hunter reached urgently for the gun where it nestled under his shirt against his spine. The movement tore painfully at his injured side, causing him to grunt in pain, his pupils dilating further.

His normally fluid, graceful movements were hesitant and jerky, and the gun was barely clear of the waistband of Dean's jeans when the daemon flexed his gloved hand and sent the hunter crashing over the hood of the Impala to smash heavily, shoulder first, into a truck parked 30 feet away.

Dean felt his left arm explode from its socket as he smashed into the side of the truck, smashing the wing mirror from its mount, and the pain tore an agonised scream from him as he fell to the clean white snow, patterning its pure surface with a shower of warm crimson.

The last thing Dean saw as he slipped into pain-filled unconsciousness was the daemon striding towards him, a vision of intense chilling blackness against the white snow.

Jo turned so her back was to the door and leaned breathlessly against it, maintaining her careful hold on Sam at the same time, so his forward impetus was unbroken. She was intensely relieved that they had managed to get all the way to the door without the tall hunter falling over, or either of them puking for that matter

The snow hit Jo, as it had Dean moments earlier with its icy fingers as she and Sam emerged into the car park, but it's rough caress was not totally unwelcome to Jo as she had begun to sweat from keeping Sam upright. Thus, she was pleased to feel him straighten and stand away from her a little. She looked up into his face to congratulate him and saw a look of confusion swiftly giving way to anguish as he stared into the driving snow.

Sam watched with mounting horror the scene before him as he realised that the broken figure lying in the snow, highlighted obscenely by daubs of his own warm, congealing blood, was Dean. Sam's drunken nausea fled and rage quickened his pulse, sharpened his senses. He pushed Jo aside and leapt from the steps, seemingly oblivious for his own safety, desperate to get to his brother as the tall grey clad figure stooped over the fallen hunter's stilled form.

'Dean!'

The daemon placed his leather gloved hand tenderly against the cheek of the injured man as he laid on the ground before him, and felt the energy he so craved humming through the stilled body. He smiled and raised his jet eyes, drawn to the rage in Sam's cry. He rose fluidly to his feet, lifting Dean's unconscious form effortlessly with one hand, the motion casually smearing the blood from the hunter's shattered shoulder across the pristine snow.

The daemon smiled at the advancing younger hunter and raised his unburdened hand to the sky momentarily, murmuring softly, before arching his gloved fist toward Sam and Jo.

Sam's feet were instantly taken out from under him by gusts of wind of deamonic force and the fall of snow intensified until it was a white out. Sam was tossed across the muffled car park, his progress only stopped by his jarring impact with the wheel of a parked truck. The force of the storm held him pinned there and Sam squinted into the icy stinging pellets as he watched the daemon throw his brothers limp bleeding form into the back seat of a silver Mercedes, climb into the driver's seat and drive unhurriedly into the silence of the swirling snow.

Chapter ends.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Fallen by DeansBabyBird**

Thank you Kripke for letting me play with your darling boys! And thanks to my wonderful betas Kirsty and Lou for your infinite support.

Chapter Two: Raguel.

Within seconds of the daemon's Mercedes disappearing silently into the blizzard, the storm calmed significantly. The wind dropped losing its howl and the snow lessened, reverting from a daemonic entity to a more natural phenomenon.

Jo was able to get up from her position on the decking outside the door of the bar, and regain her shaky feet. She stumbled as quickly as she dare through the ankle deep snow towards Sam, there to fling herself to her knees on the soft white carpet and reach nervously towards his stilled form.

The hunter was lying on his back, an inch of virgin white covering his body. Jo gently brushed the damp flakes from his face and shoulders, calling his name softly as she worked. With relief she saw he was breathing, and a cursory once over of his snow shrouded body told Jo that he seemed to have escaped any significant injury.

She shook him gently, calling his name again, and slowly Sam's eyes opened and he found focus on her worried face. As lucidity returned to the young hunter, Jo saw panic rise in his eyes and heard it in his cry.

'Dean!'

Sam's crushing anguish for his brother was evident in that single word and he rose swiftly to his feet, swaying unsteadily with the rapid movement. Jo stood close to him, silent, as she waited to see if he needed her support to maintain his long legs.

Panic hit Sam like a physical blow, and dizziness engulfed him as his heart pounded deafeningly in his ears. The events of the past few minutes replayed in his disorientated brain, horrifyingly enhanced by all too recent ghost Images of Dean writhing in agony and begging for mercy as his body was crushed and broken by the Yellow-Eyed Daemon.

After a few seconds, even though it was evident the tall hunter could stand well enough by himself, Jo found herself moving in close to his side. Their arms linked around each other and Jo pressed her face against Sam's wet jacket sleeve, seeking the comfort of his proximity, hoping it would quell the feeling of terror that was threatening to engulf her.

'What happened, Jo?'

Sam's voice was ragged as he dragged his eyes from the empty road and looked down at Jo.

'Daemon?'

Jo's response was a question and she desperately hoped Sam would contradict her and give a less damming explanation of events, but he stiffly nodded his head as she had known he would, and Jo felt her stomach lurch violently in fear. She bit down the bile which threatened to choke her and concentrated on Sam's face, fighting to hold herself together.

As they spoke Sam was scanning around the deserted parking lot. Jo followed his eyes around the frosted floor. She let go of his jacket and moved with him as he strode the short distance to where the Mercedes had been parked. Sam crouched, his bare hand reaching down to rest on the untouched snow, a look of confusion on his pale face.

'No tracks?'

The ground showed no trace of the heavy car, no drifting of the lying snow where it had been parked, no tyre marks indicating where it had moved away from the lot to the quiet road. It was as if it had been weightless or had not existed at all. Any hope of following the cars tracks to find Dean was instantly gone.

They rose together and by mutual but unspoken consent moved to the spot where Dean had landed after the daemon had flung him effortlessly through the air. Jo watched the muscles in Sam's jaw clench, and heard his ragged breath as they surveyed the blood-splattered churned snow.

There was a huge dent in the door of the truck where Dean had impacted, and fierce shards of bloody glass from the shattered wing mirror mingled with the soiled snow. Jo felt the cold bite the skin of her face where silent tears were beginning to track down her cheeks. Without realising she was doing it, she reached for Sam's hand.

Sam felt Jo's freezing fingers touch his own and gratefully closed his hand about hers.

'There's such...such a lot of...of blood!'

Jo's voice hiccupped in distress and she could no longer prevent the tears from coursing down her face.

Sam drew the tiny girl in towards him, shielding her from the lightly swirling snow with his tall frame. He wrapped his arms about her, feeling her shaking and knowing that its cause was as much fear as cold, knowing too that she would feel his similar tremble, and recognise the panic within him.

After a moment or two Sam felt Jo draw in a long breath and he released her from his embrace. Her tears had stopped and her fear was controlled to be replaced by anger.

'So, how the hell do we trace where it's taken Dean?'

Sam smiled at the returning strength in Jo's question. He opened his mouth, his breath smoking in the cold, only to close it again straight away as he realised despairingly that he had no idea how to answer her or where they might even make a start on finding Dean.

A sudden motion at the periphery of their vision made both the hunters start and they gazed in surprise at the figure that moved from the side of the truck to stand before them.

'Maybe I can be of help with that?

The man spoke softly.

I am Raguel'

Dean could hear nothing. No pattering of blizzarding snow impacting on parked vehicles, no howling wind, and he was no longer cold. So, even though he was struggling to understand where exactly he was, he surmised he was no longer in the parking lot of the bar.

He opened his pale green eyes slowly, past experience telling him that in circumstances such as these, caution was advised. His prediction was correct as even the relatively low level of light in the room flooded his brain with bright flare-flashes of pain. He let his eyes close momentarily until the iridescent patterns of light on the back of his eyelids faded a little, and then, with exaggerated care he opened his long lashes for a second time.

He was lying on the polished beech wood floor of an exquisitely, but minimally furnished room. The furniture was of chrome and glass and black leather, and reeked of good taste and understated luxury. On the walls, large atmospheric Simon Marsden photographs dominated the neutral backdrop and in one corner, a imposing display case drew the eye. It held carefully placed, very expensive looking objects d'art.

The floor was hard and Dean was stiff and sore from lying on its unrelenting surface. He knew his injuries made him physically vulnerable. Yet worse than that he was afraid that the daemon would find the parts of his mind he had so carefully closed down and protected himself from since his encounter with the Yellow-Eyed Daemon. He wanted desperately to get up, however, the returning memory of his already damaged ribs and his projected 'flight' through the parking lot, convinced him that rising was going to be a new adventure to the oft visited shores of Winchester pain.

He steeled himself, and drawing in his breath began to ease his body upright.

Sam cleared the 'Glock' and had it pointed at the tall stranger only a second before Jo freed her knife from the wrist scabbard she wore, and similarly raised it towards the man. The young hunters were thrown off balance by his sudden appearance and more than a little embarrassed to be caught off guard again in such a short space of time.

The man was tall and lean with closely cropped greying hair that set off the smoothness of his black skin. He was dressed casually in boots, dark jeans and a black leather jacket. His face was careworn but handsome, and his eyes were a remarkably vivid pale blue.

He stood deliberately still before them, and smiled reassuringly at Sam and Jo.

Dean made it about 6 inches from the horizontal before pain of ferocious intensity lanced through his left shoulder, flattening him back to the floor. He felt a warm wetness soaking his sleeve and rotated his head to see blood blossoming on his T-shirt.

'Oh, Crap!'

Dean edged the words out through clenched teeth and reached up with his right hand to the neckband of his T-shirt. He cautiously pulled at the dirty fabric, easing it gradually away from his shoulder, wincing as it stuck to the blood gathering there.

There was a large shard of glass protruding from one end of a 5 inch long, open -mouth of a wound, which started near his collar bone and sliced deeply through the skin and muscle of the anterior part of his shoulder. The wound was angry looking, the skin puffy and distended, and now new blood ran freely from it to drip beneath him, pooling warmly at his back. The movement sent waves of pain lancing up his neck into his jaw and all the way down his left arm, to set his fingers tingling. Simultaneously, the ache in his ribs awoke from its dormant state to become a fiery, pulsing throb.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut; trying to slow his rapid breathing and slowly worked his right hand down his body, carefully avoiding his battered ribs until he was in a position to reach over and grasp his own left wrist. Holding his breath against the mounting pain, Dean pulled his injured arm gradually across his abdomen and chest till he could cradle it into his body.

At the same time he pushed with his other shoulder and braced his bare feet against the floor, managing with gasping effort to push himself upright and slide far enough on the slippery wood beneath him so he could rest his battered body against one of the low black leather sofas.

It was from this pain-wracked slump that Dean saw the door open and watched with dread as the daemon calmly entered the room.

Jo sat across from the man who had introduced himself as Raguel almost laughing out loud at the strangeness of the situation she and Sam found themselves in. However, the absurdity was measured against the crushing knowledge that Dean was out there somewhere, alone, bleeding and in pain, in the clutches of a violent daemon, and the enormity of that thought threatened to break Jo.

She pushed it into a corner of her head, conscious that if she let herself dwell on her feelings for Dean just now she would be unable to function, and that would not help the situation one bit.

For his part, their guest smiled the same kind, oddly reassuring smile he had in the parking lot and watched patiently as Sam moved about the room's small kitchen.

Sam finished making the coffee and placed a steaming mug down in front of Jo, she wrapped her hands around it, seeking the warmth and letting it flood into her body. Sam joined them at the tatty little table, handed an identical mug to Raguel, and sat down, hugging his own coffee as Jo had, similarly seeking in it warmth, or reassurance, or both.

Raguel had explained to them as they had stood shivering with cold and shock, in the freezing parking lot that he too was a hunter, and had been tracking the daemon, along with two colleagues for a considerable time.

They had been close to trapping it when they had been forced to separate as one of them had been badly injured, and so he had come on alone, leaving the third to tend their wounded colleague. Raguel had urged Jo and Sam to join forces with him, and work together to find the daemon and therefore Dean. Being that they had absolutely no other leads Jo and Sam had, with a nodded glance of confirmation to each other, agreed, and allowed Raguel to follow them in his car to their motel, where they now sat.

'So, who is this daemon and do you know how to find him? What does he want with my Brother? '

Sam's questions tumbled hurriedly over each other, his words clipped and angry, fear for Dean making him blunter than was perhaps his usual style. Jo looked at Raguel expecting him to find offence at Sam's aggressive tone. She saw none; in fact when the older man spoke she could hear compassion for the brothers in his words.

'The daemon has many names. Belial, Set, Samael, Azazel. His name is different in the many lands I and my colleagues have tracked him through, but he interests me less than the man who hosts him. **He **is called Michaeland has long been to me a brother. I have sworn to rid him of the foul creature that possesses him and if in doing that we can free your brother, then in that too will I rejoice'

Raguel paused, his blue eyes seeking and holding Sam's. A wordless understanding passed between them and the older man reached out and laid his calloused hand over Sam's. The touch was a comfort to Sam, and he managed a tiny smile for the older man.

'Raguel, do you know want with it wants with Dean?'

Jo glanced at Sam as she asked this question, terrified what she might hear and seeking to ground herself with his eyes. Raguel looked from Sam to Jo and she briefly saw a lifetime of tiredness and pain reflected in his pale blue eyes.

'Yes, I know' Raguel answered softly.

Chapter ends

If you have the time I'd love a review! If you don't well I hope you enjoyed it!


	3. Chapter 3

**The Fallen by DeansBabyBird**

Dean's having a real hard time getting acquainted with his new pal and it's proving a painful ordeal! Thanks Kripke for letting me play with your boys and to my fabulous Betas Kirsty and Lou...XXX

Chapter Three. Michael

The daemon carefully closed the door, and walked fluidly to stand in front of Dean, looking intently down at the injured hunter. His movements were precise, controlled and contained, taking no more effort than was absolutely necessary. He smiled, his thin lips parting to show perfect white teeth but the smile did not reach his cold liquid-black eyes.

Slowly he swept his gaze over Dean's body, the deep blackness temporarily hooded by heavy lashes. He took his time, taking in the young hunters dishevelled state and lingering with particular interest on the obvious injuries. There was an overt eagerness in his gaze as he studied the boy's badly dislocated left shoulder and the blood covering the sleeve and left side of his T-shirt. He took in the shallow pain-filled movements of Dean's chest and the fever -flush blushing the young hunter's skin, and there was a wanting in the quickening of the daemons breathing that bordered disturbingly on lust.

Dean pressed his body back against the sofa, discomforted by the gaze of the daemon, trying to keep what distance he could between the two of them. He let his head roll back to rest on the seat cushion so he could more easily look up into the black eyes. The movement was lacking in strength and coordination and made the room swim as he stared up at the blurry unfocussed image before him. The daemons smile intensified revelling as his captive failed to hide his weakness and disorientation.

The daemon turned and walked a few steps to the display case; he let his manicured fingers trail idly over the beautiful object d'art on its softly lit shelves, allowing the injured hunter to take him in.

He had pulled back his waist length black hair and caught it in an exquisitely chased sliver clasp at his neck. He wore a soft grey cashmere turtleneck, over fine black wool trousers and polished black ankle boots. He looked expensive and cultured and in control. The contrast between captor and captive was significant and stark.

'Hey Dude!'

Dean smiled his best smile and put what energy he had into his words, but his voice was still ragged. It was not lost on the daemon.

'I appreciate you not wanting me to catch cold an' all'

The hunter indicated with his right hand to the absence of his wet outer clothes and over-shirt.

'But I gotta mention' he paused raising his head with effort and nodding to his bare feet, 'those are my best boots and I'm really gonna need them back!'

The daemon laughed, a short surprised burst of noise showing his genuine humour at the injured man's flippant remark.

'Bravo, I knew you would have spirit Dean...'

His voice was deep and resonant

'Oh, forgive me may I call you Dean? Perhaps it is presumptuous of me seeing as we have not really been formerly introduced?'

Dean raised his eyebrow in acquiescence and the daemon inclined his head graciously.

'This will be more fun than I anticipated. I have played with humans before but they were pathetically unchallenging. '

'Well Hell Man,'

Dean smiled tightly in return

'I'd hate to disappoint! And I always say take your fun where you find it! '

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Raguel drew a powerful hand over his tired face, and raised his incongruously pale blue eyes to meet Jo and Sams. They held his gaze with fearful expectancy and Raguel felt overwhelming sadness for the concern he already saw in their faces, especially knowing that he must add to it.

'Sam, your family has long been of interest in my world, and I have watched from a distance as your Mother and Father before your, and now You and Dean, have battled evil in all its forms.

You have always been marked out because of the possibilities within you, and I think you must know that there are those who would seize you as their 'Dark' ally.'

Raguel paused, intent on Sam, seeking to know whether the young hunter before him understood his words. Sam nodded; a small, tight, pain-filled gesture and Raguel's heart lurched with compassion, seeing Sam's horror at his potential fate etched on his drawn face.

'My Brother Michael has been taken by one who would claim you and deliver you up to its own evil Master, and I suspect you have felt their attempts to corrupt your thinking and actions already?'

Sam nodded slowly, and when he spoke his voice was soft, dragged down with shame.

'Dreams. I have dreams where I do ...do things that...'

Sam stopped unable to continue and dropped his eyes to the table, unwilling to look at his companions for fear of what he might see.

Raguel reached across the shabby table and placed a gentle hand on Sams arm.

'It is to your credit that you are ashamed of what is asked of you in these dreams, but these are their plans for you and the horror they contain is not of your making.

Sam raised his eyes back to Raguel and the older man smiled at him, a wealth of understanding within his ice blue stare. In the same moment he felt Jo's warm hand come to rest beside Raguel's to offer her endorsement for the older man's words. Their obvious support heartened Sam and his voice was steadier and more controlled when he spoke.

'So if this is about wanting me? Why hasn't it come after me?

Sam's honey brown eyes commanded ice blue.

'Why the hell did the daemon take Dean?'

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'Well maybe I should introduce myself?'

The daemon smiled at Dean, clearly contemplating his response. Finally he chuckled, celebrating his own cleverness and said

'I have had many names Dean but I think it would be fitting if you called me...Mikey!'

Dean nodded, a little puzzled. He felt he should find some significance in the name, but for the life in him he couldn't see it. However, he smiled in return, happy to try and maintain the daemons relaxed mood, but needing to know what was in store for him.

'So then Mikey, what do you want with me?'

Dean gasped with the sudden intensity of the pain he felt as Mikey casually raised his arm and brought him effortlessly to a standing position. He was agonisingly aware of his broken ribs creaking in the daemons grip and his bare feet scrabbled to find purchase on the floor that was slippery with his own pooled blood. Humour fled the situation and fear; real and palpable fear, invaded Deans consciousness. The daemon stepped closer, his black eyes locked onto Deans pale green, so close that the injured hunter could see into their terrible depths and feel the daemons icy cold breath on his cheek.

'You will convince Sam to embrace his destiny, Dean'

The daemon's voice had lost its humour, to be replaced by a barely disguised urgency.

'Show him that there is only one path for him, and that it is time to take my hand and I will lead him to My Master and to power beyond his wildest dreams.'

'Yeah... right... Dude'

Dean spat the words, and the daemon tightened his grip in annoyance.

Flecks of blood flew from Dean's lips as he coughed against the lack of air in his constricted lungs and the daemon looked with disgust as tiny dots of red stained his turtleneck.

'And I'd ...do that...why?'

Dean gasped.

The daemon pulled the weakly struggling hunter closer, holding him in his powerful embrace.

'Because then I will release you quickly Dean, to the peace that death will bring you: the peace you crave. Otherwise I will show you such a world of slow, ceaseless agony that you will beg me to die'

He increased the pressure a little more to emphasise his words and Dean felt his fragile ribs pop beneath his bruised skin. The hunter groaned in pain, too breathless to respond to the daemon. But his jade eyes flashed defiance which Mikey saw.

'Don't believe me Dean?'

He taunted.

'Then let me give you a taster!'

Chapter ends

I love and appreciate any and all reviews so big thanks to those of you who have taken the time to leave a few words.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Fallen. by DeansBabyBird**

It's a bit of a short one but Mikey insisted on coming out to play for a while and who am I to refuse him? As always Kripke's boys are a joy to play with.

**Chapter 4 Team Raguel**

Raguel drew in his breath and paused a moment to gather his thoughts. He had been many years travelling this tormented road, always one pace behind the daemon, and he knew he had to present his long experience in a succinct and coherent manner, or it would be difficult: no make that impossible, for Sam and Jo to accept.

Jo watched the older man as he prepared himself to continue his story. Beside her she could feel Sam fidget with anxiety and impatience and she placed her hand on her own leg to stop the nervous tapping that was threatening to start.

Her mind strayed to Dean as she waited for Raguel to speak, and she found herself wondering, if wherever he was, was he cold? How badly was he hurting?

She remembered how tired he had looked when he had left her to get the Impala, how his stride had been less powerful than she was used to and how his deep green eyes had been hooded by long sleepy lashes.

She knew his clothes must have been wet through from lying in the snow, and he had the beginnings of a fever, she had felt it in the heat of his skin when she had rested her hand on his bruised ribs, and that was hours ago now. Since then this bastard of a daemon had beaten him into unconsciousness and God knows what else!

She felt hot stinging tears coming to her wide eyes and she brushed angrily at them. They would do Dean no good! What they needed was to find him, get him away from this creature and look after him, let him get well and strong again.

Jo's anxiety peaked, and when she spoke her voice was harsher than she intended.

'Please Raguel! Why? Why has it taken Dean and how do we get him back?'

Raguel started a little as Jo's voice cannoned into his thoughts, but he recognised her shortness for the fear she was feeling and it spurred him to his grim task, and he set about explaining the situation for Sam and Jo.

'The creature controlling Michael is a high ranking daemon but many years ago it fell from favour with its Master. It desperately desires to regain its position and has over the years striven to please its Master in the hope that he will elevate it to its former status.'

Sam interrupted softly, his voice quietened in his distress.

'His Master?'

Raguel looked at the young man before him and grieved for what he must next say.

'Lucifer, Sam. Lucifer is his Master.'

Sam swallowed his mouth suddenly dry and the question he had been forming for Raguel left him as panic gripped.

Jo reached across to Raguel and grasped his arm, dragging his attention from Sam and forcing him to look at her.

'Lucifer? The embodiment of evil and enemy of God? Otherwise known as Satan? That Lucifer?'

Raguel nodded slowly to Jo, watching her breath quicken and her incredulous face pale, seeing her try to push away the meaning in his words.

Sam's hand quietly came to rest on Jo's and she looked into soft brown eyes wracked with pain, and to her horror, she saw the sure knowledge that he knew this to be reality.

Raguel hated the despair his words were perpetrating on the young couple before him, but knew that no amount of wanting to change the situation would achieve it. Were that the case Raguel's desire to save Michael would have ended this battle years ago. The older man drew in a sighing breath and continued.

'Lucifer is a harsh Lord and nothing the daemon has done over those long years had appeased him. He remains outcast, searching for the prize that his master will hold dear enough to return his fold. I, with my loyal colleagues, have followed the daemon's trail of destruction and know the misery it has perpetrated on humanity in that time.'

Raguel paused, his eyes briefly closing against the horrors he memory showed to him, and a shudder ran through his tall frame. He continued, returning his sorrowful eyes to Jo and Sam.

'Recently, the daemon's focus has become You Sam, because it knows that Lucifer would reward it beyond measure were it to deliver you to his House. However, before it delivers you it understands that you must have accepted your role, that for you to be a prize to its master, you must be a willing...no enthusiastic, follower.'

Sam shuddered. He was repulsed, and terror shortened his breath till he was gasping.

Raguel reached into this coat pocket and pulled out a small silver bottle and un-corking it, offered it to Sam.

'Holy water?'

Jo asked, taking the proffered flask and helping Sam tip it to his lips.

'Bourbon!'

The older man replied as Sam choked on the fiery liquid, patting him sharply on his heaving back.

'I find it more helpful in circumstances such as these!'

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Sam was tired, exhausted really, and he wanted nothing more than to lie down and go to sleep for about a month. He closed his eyes feeling the bourbon burn down into his churning stomach, and bit down on the bile that rose in his dry throat. Jo touched his shoulder and he looked beneath strands of trailing hair into her worried brown eyes.

'Gonna puke?'

Sam shook his head carefully, as the confidence he had in that statement was minimal and he swallowed a few more times.

Raguel watched the young hunters struggle with concern, but also with admiration as he saw in Sam a colossal strength of character.

Sam tilted back his head, and rolling his shoulders bent his head quickly from one side to the other, making his neck crack, before looking back steadily to meet Raguel's understanding smile

Jo started at the gesture, for it was pure 'Dean', and for a moment she saw how alike the brothers were. It stopped her breath and images of Dean smiling, laughing, calling her name; his lively green eyes sparkling, filed her mind. She fought again with the tears that were so close to falling and, in an effort to halt their inevitable flow, forced herself to concentrate on Sam, as he started to speak with Raguel again.

'So I understand that Lucifer...'

Sam felt a shiver run through his body as he spoke the name,

'That Lucifer wants me and that the daemon who controls Michael wants to deliver me to him.'

Sam paused, his eyes seeking the older man's for affirmation of his statement. Raguel nodded.

'But I still don't see why he took Dean? Why not just take me? Why...'

Sam was interrupted by an impatient tapping at the door, and he and Jo rose as one, Sam clearing the Glock as he moved. Raguel rose with them, his movements purposeful but placatory, as he strode before them to the door.

'Don't be alarmed!'

The older man deliberately kept his tone measured, not wanting to increase the panic he saw on Sam and Jo's faces. He raised his large hand in a gesture of calm and was relieved to see Sam's posture relax a notch though he did not lower the gun.

'They are my friends! They come to help!'

Raguel turned to the door and opened it, as Sam and Jo glanced briefly to each other before turning back to the new arrivals.

'Sam, Jo'

Raguel's voice was warm with affection.

'Meet my brothers, Raphe and Uri!'

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Dean was glad that the chair Mikey has deposited him in, after releasing him from his rib breaking embrace, had arms on it because he was so dizzy that he was having trouble staying at true vertical, and the arms were all that was stopping him falling untidily to the polished floor. He felt appallingly nauseous, and when he tried to focus on the daemon, he could see, to his disgust, multiple images of its obscenely smiling face.

Mikey stood a few feet in front of his charge and observed the tremble of Dean's taught upper body, the increasing pallor of his skin and the sheen of sweat on his handsome face. He smiled, his thin lips parting slightly, as his small pink tongue darted out to slowly moisten their surface. He stepped forward towards Dean and was rewarded by seeing the injured man push nervously back from him, his shallow pain-filled breathes hitching in his battered chest as he moved.

Mikey placed his hands on the arms of Dean's chair and swayed forward, his weight on his right leg, his face coming to a halt only inches only from his captive's.

'So Dean, let me see if I can help you to understand why you are going to help me convince Sam that he wants to work with My Master.'

'Sam...'

Dean was breathless, the pain in his chest forbidding him from breathing deeply enough to power his voice.

'Makes...his own...choices...'

Mikey laugh noisily, and let go of the chair with his right hand, but with his left, he dragged Dean around so the hunter was drawn up to the large pale wood table.

'Of course he does Dean!'

Mikey had stepped away from the hunter, his disbelief hanging in the air, to the chrome and glass display case that dominated the room. He perused its shelves slowly and with purpose, as Dean watched him from his seat, with mounting trepidation.

Having made his selection, Mikey turned back to the table and gentle laid an object on the clean surface, some distance away from Dean but well within the hunter's somewhat blurry sight.

The dagger was beautiful. Its white metal blade was thin, sleek and shinning with a high gloss finish. Its handle was also highly polished but fashioned from some stone that was as black as its owner's dark eyes. It was inlaid with a crisscross grip of fine silver wires and threads.

Dean raised his eyes from the blade to find Mikey's equally black eyes waiting for him and he had to work hard to keep any hint of his mounting fear from invading the suffering pale jade.

'Put your hands on the table'

Mikey's voice was quiet, so quiet that Dean had to strain to hear him over the backdrop of his racing heart. He made no move to comply and Mikey slammed his hand down with staggering force on the surface of the table just in front of the hunter. The dagger skittered across the table scoring a thin groove in the wood as it travelled and Dean started in his seat at the unexpected violence of the gesture.

'Put your fucking hands on the table now!'

Mikey screamed, grasping Dean's matted hair with his right hand and smashing his face down to brutally contact the table's unforgiving surface.

Blood ran freely from the wide tear below Dean's left eye, as the daemon again used his short hair to pull his head back up and Dean hesitantly, reluctantly lifted his right hand to place it palm down on the table. He looked up at the daemon where he loomed above him as blood flowed down his cheek to further stain his grubby T-shirt.

'Are you deaf?'

Mikey's voice was icy cold, and Dean's breathing hitched nervously.

'I said hands!'

Mikey's gaze flickered to Dean's ruined left shoulder and arm where it hung at an unnaturally canted angle from the blown joint. Dean's eyes followed Mikey's and to look at the senseless limb and then stared defiantly back into the daemon's bottomless voids.

'I ...can't...move...it'

Dean stuttered

'Can't ...feel...it!'

Mikey smiled, and want and corrupt desire oozed from him.

'Then let me help you.'

And before Dean could move to stop him the daemon grasped his shattered limb and wrenched it upwards, grinding the harsh joint surfaces on each other, to slam it palm down on the tabletop. In the same fluid movement the daemon reached for the ornate dagger with his other hand, and plunging it from on high, speared it brutally through Dean's hand, pinning it to the wood below.

Chapter ends

All reviews happily and gratefully received!


	5. Chapter 5

**The Fallen by DeansBabyBird**

A little bit of swearing in this chapter, and yes I put a dollar in the swear box!

Chapter Five. The Power Of One 

Raguel ushered the two men into the motel room and hurriedly closed the door behind them as tiny flurries of snow blew around them and across the floor. The smaller of the two newcomers leaned heavily on a cane that he held in his right hand, his stride hesitant as he moved on an obviously ruined knee. The other man steadied him from behind. They were both muffled up against the cold in warm clothes and Raguel fussed about them, helping the smaller man off with his coat and settling him on one of the beds, his injured leg extended before him.

'Sam, Jo'

Raguel smiled, and it was a huge genuine smile that spoke of the love he had for his companions. It warmed Sam and Jo momentarily.

'This is Uri.'

He indicated the seated man and Jo took in his black clothes, blond, closely cropped hair and pale skin. His eyes too were ghost pale, almost white. It gave him an ethereal somewhat disconcerting look, which was belied when he opened his mouth and his rich warm voice boomed out

'Got anything to eat Rags? I'm starving! Raphe's been feeding me that healthy crap he so loves and it's killing me!'

The taller newcomer laughed out loud, his grey collar-length curly hair bobbing and his dark grey eyes flashing his amusement as he looked from Uri to Raguel. Jo found herself smiling with the three men recognising that this was part of some long practised ritual that bonded them together and thinking how the smaller man's complaint would amuse Dean. She sought Sam and saw pleasure in his eyes too for the friends reunited, for a brief moment before his concern for Dean clouded his brown eyes once more.

'Are you properly well again Uri?'

Raguel sat on the end of the bed and placed his hand gently on Uri's injured leg, but his eyes sought Raphe's as he asked the question. The older of the two newcomers nodded his head slowly, a wealth of understanding in his wise eyes and looking from Raguel to Uri and back, he said.

'He is well, Raguel. The leg heals slowly, Uri heals slowly'

'Thanks to you Raphe!'

Uri's oddly white eyes shone with light, as he nodded once to the taller man.

'You helped me find my way back from His shadows!'

There was great sincerity in the words and Raphe pressed his hand to his heart and nodded in return.

'Enough then!'

Raguel smiled at his companions one last time then turned to Sam and Jo, his face stilling into seriousness.

'Have you found anything that will help us end this?

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The thin tempered steel of the blade vibrated rhythmically like an obscene metronome, marking the tempo of Dean's pain. The stinging tremors of the cold metal contrasted with the sticky warmth of the blood pooling around Dean's throbbing hand. He ground his teeth together, trying to bite down the scream he so wanted to release but would not, and squeezed his eyes closed as nausea threatened to overwhelm him.

Mikey studied his captive and felt the fresh waves of pain radiating from his shaking body. He sighed in perverse pleasure, bathing in the fragrance of coppery blood and tangible fear permeating the room.

He reached forward and cupped the trembling man's chin, feeling the erotic scrape of stubble against his soft palm, and raised Dean's moisture-filled green eyes to meet his soul-less black.

'So Dean, Remind me. You were saying Sammy makes his own choices?'

Dean nodded once slowly, too close to vomiting to risk speaking, and angrily pulled his face from Mikey's caressing fingers. The gesture irritated the daemon but the resultant gasp of pain it tore from the boy, as the movement jarred his damaged shoulder, was sufficient compensation.

'You see Dean; I'm not as convinced about Sam's strength of character as you are .I think he's weak, dependant on you for his sanity and strength'

Mikey swivelled on his polished heel, walking across the room as he spoke, looking back at his captive over his shoulder, and was pleased to see that mention of his brother had captured Dean's attention. So despite his agony, Mikey saw Dean's attentive jade eyes were intent on what he was saying.

'Sam'll ...kick your ass ...when he finds you. Tell me after that ...how strong he is! '

The words were defiant but the volume and speed of Dean's response was limited by the serious lack of breath panting through his bruised chest.

'Really Dean?'

Genuine amusement lit up Mikey's face

'You see we both saw how crushed Sam was when his pretty little Jess burned and bled her way to oblivion! And when your Daddy bartered away his wasted life? It was only your presence, the constant in his life that you are, that saved him!'

Mikey paused looking at Dean from his position by the display cabinet. He saw Dean's eye's burn with rage. He fed on the anger.

'Jess was so beautiful wasn't she Dean? And he was so in love with her.'

'Shut your mouth, you heartless bastard!'

Dean's anger hissed towards the daemon.

'Oh Dean, have I touched a sore spot there? Is that brotherly concern I see or did you really want that pretty young thing yourself?'

The daemon moved back swiftly to the table and leaned in close to whisper tormentingly as Dean turned his face angrily away.

'But maybe it's more than that?

Mikey placed his hand on the handle of the dagger and pushed it an inch further into unprepared flesh, and felt warm pleasure flood through him as the squirming man whipped back round to grasp the daemon's wrist in an attempt to prevent further cruel ingress of the exquisitely sharp blade.

'Does it hurt Dean?'

He leaned down, his face close to his captives and laughed as the tears running from translucent green eyes, and Dean's hitching breathing told him all he needed to know.

'So maybe it's not just that you wanted to fuck her Dean!'

Dean's head snapped up, rage written in his smouldering gaze, his trembling lips inches from the Daemons.

'You wanted what he had didn't you? Wanted to fit in, be normal, because let's face it you've never had normal have you? Well not since your Mommy burned up!

Never been loved, have you Dean? Daddy didn't really love you did he? Who got all his attention Dean? Did he ever notice what you were doing? And then he went and left you!

Sam had Jess, a life, had a future. He had all that, and you were jealous, Are jealous! Isn't that right Dean?

Come to me and I can give you all that and more. Sam will have to fight for his place but I will see you have all you have ever dreamed of

Or defy me and I will bring you to a place of pain that you cannot comprehend!'

As he finished, emphasising his point, Mikey leaned his weight slowly onto the dagger and watched as Dean bit through his lip to keep from screaming out loud, as the blade inexorably completed its merciless journey.

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'Well that's been the one good thing about being laid up with this damn leg, Rags! I think we just might have sussed it! Raphe! Where's my laptop?'

Uri smiled excitedly up at Raguel and was rewarded with an indulgent smile in return from the two older strangers.

The interchange suggested to Jo that this was a scenario that had played out between younger and older men on many occasions and she was touched by their easy affection for each other.

'I left it in the car Uri.''

Jesus, Uri! How many times? What if someone broke in and stole it?'

Raphe held up his hands in mock horror and Uri grinned, playing along with he and Raphe's age old game and loving the look of genuine disapproval on Raguel's face at his choice of expletive.

'Mea Culpa! Uri, but I did virtually carry you from the car, in the snow I might add, and you know what? Weeks of sitting on your ass haven't made you any lighter!'

Jo laughed at the indignant look on the younger man's pale face, thinking how like the snarky interchanges between Sam and Dean the dialogue was, her eyes fled to Sam's and he could not disguise the agony he felt from her. He held her eyes briefly, hazel and honey brown seeking strength from each other.

'Here Uri.'

Sam rose, and crossed to the other bed, retrieving his bag.

'Can you make do with mine?'

He cautiously placed the machine on the white-eyed man's lap, being careful not to put any pressure on his injured leg and retreated to his chair as the seated man eagerly fired her up.

Uri tapped away at the keys, as Raguel and Jo went to sit on the bed with him, intent on the small bright screen. Desperate for answers.

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Raphe watched the despair etched on Sam's face and his heart grieved for the young hunter. He rested his strong arms on the table, folding his hands before him.

'You understand Sam that you are not responsible for the actions of the daemon that has control of Michael, that Dean's abduction is not your fault?

Sam huffed out a small pain filled laugh, his eyes on Raphe's earnest grey.

'The daemon took my brother because Lucifer wants me.'

The statement was flat, dead, guilt and sadness drifting on Sam's soft words.

'Lucifer does want you Sam, but he knows you will not serve him'

'Exactly!'

Sam snapped, tension and fear sharpening his words.

'So it took Dean so I would give myself up to them in exchange!'

'Well no, not exactly'

Raphe watched as Sam absorbed his words, he saw a spark of interest in the warm brown eyes.

'What do you mean?'

Raphe checked himself wondering how much he should tell Sam.

'Raphe please!'

Sam's urgent hand grasped the older man's arm and Raphe nodded, his mind made up.

'The daemon's first thought was simply to take you. To bring you to Lucifer for him to do with as he would.'

Sam shuddered and Raphe pressed on, not wishing to prolong the pain of his words.

'But he realised as he observed you that you would die rather than do Lucifer's bidding. So his next though was to take Dean, to use him as leverage with you. He thought that if he threatened Dean he could control you, force you to convert to his Master's will.'

He looked to Sam checking that the young man was following his conversation, Sam nodded, his handsome face serious.

Raphe glanced to Raguel, his eyes questioning and Raguel held his friends gaze for a heartbeat before nodding imperceptibly. Raphe smiled at his brother and continued.

'But, Lucifer made it very clear that he wants you only as a willing devotee, not coerced, not controlled but with your free will intact. Without that he knows your strength will be lost, and Lucifer does not want you without the power you bring.'

Frustration and confusion fought for space behind Sam's sharp eyes.

'So he wants Dean...?'

'Because the daemon sees that your power is drawn from Dean. You two are immeasurably strong as one, but without Dean Lucifer fears you will not be able to deliver the task he has for you.

Raphe watched Sam process his words and was not surprised to see Sam gentle nodding his head in agreement with their meaning.

'So the daemon can't kill Dean? Because he knows that if he does any reason Sam may have had to convert will be gone. And that without Dean Sam's power is lessened?'

Sam and Raphe both started, unaware that as they spoke Jo had gravitated back to the table and had been listening to their interchange. Raphe looked into Jo's hopeful face.

'Yes, Jo. The daemon will do all it can to keep Dean alive.'

'But? I hear a 'but' Raphe?'

Sam's soft voice interjected. He reached for Jo's hand as he voiced the question, terror grasping his heart.

'The daemon will try and persuade Dean to convince Sam to convert. It will use every means in its power to coerce Dean.'

Raguel stopped, leaving his words hanging ominously in the air. Panic filled Jo, and she sat down next to Sam as her legs threatened to collapse beneath her.

'So, the daemon will hurt Dean to try to make him persuade Sam? '

Raphe nodded tightly.

'And we all know that Dean would never ask that of Sam, so he will take whatever It dishes out, for ...as long ...as long ...!'

Jo's voice faltered and she lowered her head, tears pouring down her face to drip onto the cracked Formica of the shabby motel table. In her mind, she tried desperately to cling onto images of Dean laughing at the wheel of the Impala, running to her aid, firing his shotgun at some foe or other, smiling as he threw an M&M high in the air to catch it in his mouth. However, even as she clung to them they faded and Jo heard Dean's breath hiccup in pain as she placed her soft hand on his bruised ribs, and then he was lying sprawled, broken and bloody, in the soft white snow. She covered her eyes with her hands and sobbed as Sam drew her into his arms.

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Dean tasted the salty blood from his torn lip and realised that unbelievably he was hungry! His rage subsided as he listened to his stomach rumble noisily. How ridiculous was that?

Here he was being tortured by a sick, sadistic bastard of a daemon, who bizarrely figured he was the power behind Sam and would reward him handsomely to turn Sam to the 'Dark Side' and what was he thinking about?

A burger! Go figure!

He laughed, and the blood from his lip sprayed a mist of fine ruby droplets to pattern the blond wood table before him, adding a diffuse halo of pink to the congealed crimson that surrounded his impaled hand.

The daemon watched his captive laughing with a look of bemusement, wondering if this display of inappropriate hysteria was the manifestation of the boy's spirit finally giving way. He had expected that it would take time to break this one, more so than any of the other pathetic humans he had ever dealt with, but he had begun to worry that he did not have the skill to take him to the edge. His resolve was so strong.

When he had taken the boy in the parking lot he had felt strength radiating from him, and even with his painful injuries he had felt the hunter's power. The more time he spent in Dean's presence the more he knew that the boy was extraordinary.

The strange, yet fortuitous thing was that the hunter seemed to have no awareness whatsoever of his own potential. He was unaware of the energy pulsing from him, or of the effect it had on the daemon.

Mikey moved back to the table to stand beside his charge as Dean's laughter faded to a bought of breathless coughing.

'So Dean, do you accept my offer? Will you stand with me and together we will deliver Sam up to my Master?'

The daemon's dark eyes sparkled with anticipation and as Dean raised his head he could see his tired face reflected in the shinning lens.

'Sure thing Mikey!'

Dean creased his bleeding mouth into his trademark cocky smile.

'And while you at it call your sick bastard of a boss over and I'll dance a freaky two-step with him, telling him how clever you are!'

Dean tensed as he spoke but the two fisted round house that the daemon delivered still broke his cheek bone as it delivered him into the oblivion of unconsciousness. The last thing he saw as he slipped into the darkness was the daemon reaching for the dagger that speared his bleeding hand.

Chapter ends

So hope you're enjoying it still and maybe you could leave me a review? Go on Mikey wants to know if you love him?


	6. Chapter 6

**The Fallen by DeansBabyBird**

So the boys remain Kripke's, lucky man but the angels are mine! Thanks as always to My Kirst and Lou for all you do.

Chapter Six "My Tartarus"

Sam felt Jo press slightly against his chest with her hand and he softened his embrace so she could look up into his eyes. Her sobbing had ceased and her breathing was just about back under control, but wet tear tracks still marked her cheeks. Sam raised his big hand to her face and gently wiped the tears away, adding them to the wealth soaking his T-shirt where Jo had clung to him while she cried.

'He's strong Jo! We'll find him and get him out and we'll get him better. Dean always says he's fine and he will be!'

Sam's voice was soft, deliberately distancing the others in the room from this exchange, his focus on Jo, but she heard the great passion behind his words and she nodded, knowing that though he said them to calm her, but they were also for himself. They were a mantra to hold back the panic he felt, panic for his brother that matched and exceeded her own.

She smiled and closed her arms around Sam's broad back, hugging him back.

'I know, he'll be ...'

Her voice broke a bit on the word, as Sam had said, so much one of Dean's words.

'Fine, be driving us crazy after two minutes 'cause he's bored!'

Sam laughed, thinking about how Dean was impossible and irritating when he had to stay stationary for any length of time and his eyes swum with tears that threatened to fall. He looked up across Jo's honey blond hair to the three strangers in the room, and they gave back to him, empathy, compassion and strength.

666

Uri watched the exchange with respect for the pain and fear the young couple before him were feeling. He knew firsthand how daunting an opponent this daemon was, and he was impressed by their strength and resilience. He found himself desperate to help them, and waiting till they seemed to have composed themselves, he broke the tense silence in the small room.

'So hey guys, you wanna see what I've found 'cause I think it might be the daemons condescending idea of a signpost to your brother?'

Once they were all seated within site of the laptop as it balanced precariously on his knee, Uri began.

'So, Sam Jo, let me recap on what Raphe, Raguel and I have already found in the bloody eternity that we have trailed this bastard!

The ritual to call Lucifer to him requires time and space to prepare the sigils correctly so it's likely he has a dwelling where he can be undisturbed in his prep. It's not gonna be a motel or hotel room as he'd want to be away from any possible casual interference.'

'So a house?'

Sam looked questioningly at Uri, his love of problem solving rising to the surface, giving him a focus to help quell his incessant panic.

'Yeah, Sam that's what I'm thinking'

Sharp white eyes held equally sharp brown revelling in their now shared puzzle.

'He's taken houses before and he's carelessly predictable in his taste and requirements so if you know what to look for, and have patience you can find him! I've had multiple trackers running looking for the particular items he has a fondness for and I think I may have him at last!'

Uri went to spin the laptop smiling in his achievement, eager to show the screen to Sam, but it put pressure on his injured leg and they all saw his pale eyes brighten with pain.

Sam rose swiftly and lifted the small machine releasing Uri's leg, and nodded Jo to Uri's side. She moved and sat on the edge of the bed, facing Uri as he rubbed irritably at his sore leg, and Sam placed the glowing screen on her lap. Sam settled himself on the floor beside the bed, his long legs extended before him.

Raguel and Raphe took up positions at Uri's other side and on the second bed, near to Sam, all intent on the small blond man as he continued, his pain contained.

'So the daemon fancies himself a man of great taste! I'd say pretentious bastard myself but each to their own huh?'

Uri raised his eyebrows smiling wickedly at Jo, and she laughed out loud at the obscene gesture he made to accompany his comment.

'He has a great love of fine art, antiques and art photography, particularly antique weapons and instruments of torture. I've been tracking sources in all those areas and in the past month this is what's come up that I think point to the daemon.'

Uri called Jo into him with a crooked finger and a suggestive grin, and she leaned toward him so he could reach the keyboard and swiftly tapped a few more keys, revealing a spreadsheet of hundreds of purchases. He quickly ran a filter on the long list and Sam leaned in to read the detail of the remaining 3 items, as Uri continued.

'He loves Simon Marsden original photographs, but it's rare for them to hit the market nowadays, most being in museum collections. I've been watching these two in particular as they were part of a private collection, so could theoretically be sold, and they have themes that I thought might interest him

The 'Loches Donjon fillette' would appeal to his barbaric nature and 'The Impaled Man:Chillingham Castle' is, I guess, your average daemons idea of stylish interior design!

Go figure, the guy's the full bucket load!'

Sam studied the images on screen of the stunning black and white photographs and could easily appreciate the stunning images but he could also imagine the daemon feasting on the pain of tortured captivity emanating from the Fillette, and hear the lingering screams of the Impaled man, and he shivered though the room was warm.

'What makes you so sure the daemon bought them?'

Sam twisted his upper body from the screen to Uri, and ice white eyes saw the urgency in troubled hazel.

'Check out the delivery name, Sam'

Sam folded his long legs beneath him and knelt so he could get nearer to the screen.

'Tantalus Limited?'

Sam read the name out loud, shaking his head as it meant nothing to him. He glanced at Jo, and watched her shrug her shoulders the significance of the name lost on her too. Raguel however, surprised Sam by laughing out loud.

'The arrogance of the creature!'

Raguel's pale blue eyes sought each of his colleagues sharing with them some importance that intrigued Sam.

'Well done Uri!'

The younger man's face broke into a wide smile and Jo saw every trace of pain momentarily leave his attractive face as he revelled in his companions praise.

'Wait!'

Sam placed his hand gentle on Uri leg, calling back his attention.

'I don't understand? Tantalus? That means nothing to me. How does it lead us to the daemon?'

Uri's voice was eager, keen to share his knowledge with Sam and Jo.

'He's being cute Sam, tormenting us with how clever he believes himself to be by leaving an abstract trail of clues for us to solve! Let me elaborate.Tantalus was the son of Zeus and King of the primordial world but he fell from grace with his father for stealing from his table and was banished to Hades.'

Jo looked at Raguel, making the connections with their earlier conversation about the daemon.

'Like this daemon has lost favour with Lucifer, and Lucifer has cast him aside?'

'Yes Jo, and the daemon's idea of Hades is to be left here away from his Master and his brethren.'

'Yeah thanks Rags! So back to me!'

Uri cut in urgently, his white eyes and pointing finger calling them all back to the laptop's glowing screen, and its short list. Sam read again.

' "A dagger in the style of Danaus", to be delivered to a Mr Ixion?'

Raphe and Raguel again laughed as Uri offered further explanation.

'Ixion was also committed to Hades, for the sin of Lust, as were the 50 daughters of Danaus for murdering their husbands. They are all pointing us towards the daemon's own Hades, his 'Hell on Earth'!

The dagger and the pictures were delivered to a house about 20 miles from here. The house was purchased a month ago, for cash.'

Uri paused, looking down thoughtfully at his injured leg, and Raphe added in

'That's right about the time the daemon tore Uri up and we had to split up losing our drop on the daemon's sorry ass in the confusion, but at least we didn't lose Uri!'

The younger man raised grateful eyes to his companion and continued.

'The house is isolated and part of it is built on what was once consecrated ground.'

Uri paused letting the implications of his words sink in.

'Oh and I saved the best for last!'

His ice white eyes commanded the room.

'The new owner renamed the house when he purchased it. It is now called 'My Tartarus'.'

It was Raphe's turn to laugh in disbelief this time, Jo looked from the grey haired man to his companion on the bed, his eyebrows raised in question. Uri smiled ironically at Jo.

'Tartarus is the lowest dwelling place in Hades, Jo. The place to which Tantalus and Ixion were banished . It is also the place that God banishes fallen Angels to.

Sam's soft voice interjected, sudden understanding in his words.

'Like Michael, your brother Michael?'

He stared at the three men who shared the room with them, staggered disbelief on his pale face. Raguel rose and walked a pace to stand beside Uri, placing a strong hand on his shoulder, Raphe following suit.

'Yes Sam Like Michael, our brother'

Jo shook her head, confusion written across her face. She looked at Sam and saw him gazing at the three men in wonder. She turned back to Raguel, and with disbelief in her voice said

'You're Angels?'

The words sounded ridiculous and she expected the men before her to laugh, but they did not. Seconds hung in the brittle silence of the room, until Uri's deep voice quipped into the tension,

'Wanna know the funniest bit Jo? The biggest 'fuck you!' to us from the daemon?'

Jo nodded, too stunned by the revelation that the three men she felt she had come to know were in fact angels.

'Tartarus was ruled over by the most faithful of the angel host, one of the Archangels, so that the worst sinners in Hades would be contained and humankind protected from them. Guess who ruled Tartarus Jo?'

Jo shook her head, watching agony play across piercing white eyes.

'The Archangel Uriel, Jo. The most faithful of God's angels. Me Jo, me!'

666

Consciousness returned slowly to Dean, and he did not greet it as a welcome friend for with it came returning pain, and the knowledge that he was no nearer to escape than he had been when the daemon first took him in the parking lot, what seemed like forever ago.

Dean raised his head from where it was slumped against his sore chest and that small act eased his shallow breathing a little, helping him draw in a slight bit more oxygen into his bruised lungs, and so somewhat clearing his fuzzy head.

He opened his eyes, or perhaps more correctly partially opened his left eye, which was blurred, bloodshot and already blackening from the damage it had received from the daemons strong two fisted punch. His whole face felt brittle and an experimental flex of his jaw, brought an interesting grinding of bone fragments in his cheek and a flush of coppery blood into his dry mouth that made him feel sick.

Though the main lights had been extinguished he could see by the light of the display case that he was in the same room, in the same seat but now tied around his chest, waist and legs to the chair. His right hand was tied too; his left hand was not though. Not that the absence of a tie was helpful as it was still speared through by the delicate dagger, pinned to the table below.

And he was temporarily alone, the daemon nowhere to be seen.

'So Winchester!'

His voice was cracked and raw; partially because his face hurt too much to move and also because he was so dry that his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth. Even so it felt good to hear his own voice without it being the immediate prelude to a scream. Steady now Winchester, don't tempt fate! Dean chuckled softly at his ramblings but stopped quickly when the small movement sent needles of pain lancing through his chest.

'So Dean, what's your plan? Enough of visiting with freaky Mikey, let's get our ass outta here!'

Dean cast about the darkened room, but its sparse furnishing gave him little inspiration regarding escape plans and he sighed in frustration. He hated to admit it but he didn't have a single idea of how he could escape, and he found himself torn between desperately wanting to keep Sam as far away as possible from his current location, whatever that was! - And seeing his impossibly tall baby brother bursting into the room to whip the daemons ass.

Dean smiled as he thought about how drunk Sam had been when he'd last seen him, his smile deepening as he included Jo's image in his memory. The tiny girl pushing, pulling and generally man handling his massive brother across the bar. Jeez, where were they now? Were they safe?

Panic rose like bile in his dry throat and he licked at dry lips, and swallowed down threatening tears.

'Boy, what I wouldn't give for a beer right now!'

'Beer Dean?'

The lights snapped back to life, stinging Dean's tired eyes as the daemon returned to the room and walked to the table, depositing a number of items on the blond wood.

'How uncouth! I prefer champagne myself; its dryness is so refreshing. Maybe it's something I'll introduce you to?'

'Ok then Mikey.'

Dean's voice was gravel and his smile limited by his fractured cheek bone but still defiance burned in his words

'Let's have a glass now, I'm parched!'

Mikey looked down at his captive, irritated and at the same time tantalised by Dean's response. How could this man have such stamina to defy him? He could feel exhaustion emanating from Dean and knew the wounds he had inflicted were agonising yet still the hunter brought him swagger and arrogance!

'It's one of many things I plan to introduce you to Dean'

Mikey's voice was husky, languid and he smiled slowly as he moved to sit on the corner of the table, his thigh deliberately pressed against Dean's impaled hand, pushing at raw inflamed flesh as the blade slivered new blood.

Dean flinched, and tried to ease his trembling hand away from the daemons nudging thigh, but the motion ground dislocated humerus against shattered shoulder socket and the hunter started against the sudden flare of searing pain.

Though he managed to bite back the cry that went with the resurgence of that particular piece in his extensive jigsaw puzzle of pain, Dean could not prevent Mikey feeling the muscle spasms that accompanied his stifled sob. The daemon's smile increased and he revelled in the combined pain, horror and fear he saw flit through his captive's expression.

'So Dean, I've been thinking whilst you enjoyed the little nap I sent you for, and now clearly see the direction our relationship must take'

The daemon paused, his attention drawn to the pattern of cuts and bruises on his captive's up-turned face. He reached out his hand and gently touched the cut beneath Dean's eye.

'How is your face by the way? I must be more careful when I discipline you in future? You're far too pretty to damage!'

It was all Dean could do not to tear his cheek from the daemons caress but he knew that cool indifference to the touch would irritate his captor the most, and in his current position that was about all the fight back he could manage. So he turned his green eyes to his tormentor and blinking his long lashes, said calmly

'In your freaking dreams Mikey!'

The daemon's face paled in anger and tightening his grip on the hunter's bruised jaw, whispered.

'Or maybe in your nightmares Dean!'

666

The daemon held his grip just long enough to be sure that Dean knew he had seen the flicker of fear hidden behind the defiance in those feverish jade eyes, before he rose and stepped back to the side of the table, where he had deposited the items he had returned to the room carrying.

'So as I was saying Dean, our time together has been useful as well as pleasurable, because it has shown me a better way to seek my rapprochement with my Master. One that I feel is guaranteed to succeed.'

Whilst he spoke the daemon was smoothing an ornate cloth onto the blond wood surface of the table, taking care to avoid the lake of blood with its ruby splatters that highlighted Deans pale torn hand.

The cloth was black velvet with fine silver threads picking out complex sigils and patterns on its warm soft surface.

Onto this, Mikey placed a small, obviously ancient silver vessel; it too was covered with runes and sigils, around which he positioned a number of smaller jars and bowls, their contents diffuse and strange.

Dean watched the daemon's preparations with mounting apprehension. He recognised some of the symbols on both the altar cloth and the silver bowl. They were serious summoning magic and the contents of the smaller jars included graveyard dirt, star anise, and sandalwood oil, incense and myrrh. All elements used to summon daemons.

This was not looking good. One sadistic bastard of a daemon in a room at a time was plenty for Dean and he was beginning to be just a bit disappointed in himself that he still had no freaking idea how he was gonna get himself outta here

Dean pulled experimentally at the binding on his uninjured arm, wondering if he could get at least one hand loose maybe he could grab the dagger. Oh yeah, and do just what then Dean? Ask the nice psychopath to hang on whilst you cut the umpteen ropes binding you? And then maybe he'd be kind enough to help you get your sorry ass upright, cause as far as you can tell your legs are totally numb from having been seated for hours on end, and you could as much get up as dance a tango at the moment.

Then what? Oh sure! He could link you and walk you out the door, because it's certs that unless you can lean on someone the floor is gonna become a close and painful friend real quickly!

Ok then, time to look for some help here! Where the hell was Sammy with the cavalry?

Chapter ends

So if you feel like being real nice to a desperate review slut like me...then just leave a few words!


	7. Chapter 7

**The Fallen by DeansBabyBird**

So here's the next chapter. Big thanks as always to Lou and Kirsty. Sorry for the delay but I have been in France for a week on holiday. OK so were gearing up to get our boy out now!

Chapter Seven. Angels and Daemons

Raphael joined Sam and Jo at the table and smiled in apology at them as he dropped tiredly onto a creaky chair. He looked with sad grey eyes at his two colleagues hunched together in hushed conversation, their intense words for each other only and not the room, and then turned back to Sam and Jo.

'This has been especially hard for Uri. He and Michael have always been particularly close and losing him to this daemon has been agonising for him. He knows if we cannot free Michael from this evil that he will be parted from us forever. But to make it worse Michael will be banished to Tartarus and Uri will have the torment of restraining him there, seeing him suffer but be unable to save him. It is weighing heavily on him'

Jo rested her hand on Raphe's and he looked up into her honey brown eyes, nodding his thanks as he closed his own hand over hers.

'Raphe...ael'

Sam's face scrunched awkwardly, wondering what to call their friend now he understood his true identity. Raphael laughed softly, clearly used to this reaction.

'Raphe's fine Sam, whatever you feel comfortable with, I don't mind. I know this must all be unsettling for you.'

'No, it's not that...'

Sam hesitated, and Jo looked at him sensing his difficulty in framing his question.

'What is it Sam?'

Sam looked up

'You said will be banished? Future tense?'

Raphe nodded. His eyes closing briefly at the sadness Sam's words brought him.

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...'

'No, it's fine Sam. You are astute. We have been given a 'stay of execution' for want of a better term. We should have had enough time. The problem is Uri getting injured has held us back badly and our time has run out.'

Raphe's looked again across to the bed where Raguel sat with Uriel and watched as Raguel drew the fragile looking smaller man into his embrace, as crystalline tears fell from eyes of shining white onto his shoulder. Raphe eyes shone with similar tears.

'Uriel feels responsible. When we finally caught up with the daemon a month back, Uri thought he could reach Michael, our Michael, trapped somewhere in his own body by this creature. He jumped the gun and went after the daemon on his own, before Raguel and I could finish our preparations and the daemon... he ...the daemon...'

Raphe stopped his throat too constricted to speak and his eyes shining with tears of pain at his memories of that time. Sam and Jo watched the older man as he fought to regain his composure, sharing in his pain as it mirrored and amplified their own.

'Anyway, we were at least able to save Uri, to get him away from the daemon but he was terribly injured, both his body and his strong soul. It took all of my skills to even make a start on his physical recovery, but to begin to guide him back from the shadows, well that is even more of a challenge. He plays good game, masks it well, but he is still raw and wounded'

Again the soft grey eyes stole to the bed, and following them Jo was relieved to see that the younger man had stopped crying and was listening intently to Raguel's words and nodding with some of his former outward confidence restored. Raphe let out the breath he did not even realise he had been holding, and drew his gaze back to Sam and Jo.

'So, all that took time, time we didn't really have and now we find ourselves at this day,'

Sam glanced at his watch and the glowing dial told him it was 29th September. He looked back to Raphe, incomprehension in his worried eyes.

'It's Michaelmas, Sam, the Feast of St Michael, our brother's sacred day, and the final deadline for us to finish our task!'

666

Dean watched nervously as the daemon methodically and with infinite patience, mixed the unlikely ingredients in the dented silver bowl before him, his lips moving in a soft litany of ritualistic cant as he worked. The injured hunter was increasingly uneasy as the atmosphere in the room was beginning to subtly change, becoming colder and darker as the daemon chanted. Dean's mind was racing, as his belly churned both with forgotten hunger and growing fear.

Whoa Dean! This is so not a good situation. Come on Dude think here! There has to be something you can do!

His was aware of his increasing heart rate, and the sheen of sweat chilling his back, as adrenaline coursed through his aching body.

You gotta buy some more time Dean. Sammy and Jo'll figure this out and come get ya. Hell they're probably on their way now! Find a way to stall the freaky bastard, come on man you can talk yourself outta anything. Time for the patented Winchester charm!

'So Mikey'

Dean looked up, smiling his best 'let's charm the pervy daemon' smile and wriggled as much as he could against his painfully tight restraints to attract the daemons attention.

'So you said something about a guaranteed plan to help ya get it back on with your boss? Not sure I totally understand how I factor into that and I'd hate you to go to all this trouble for nothing'

Dean bobbed his head towards the summoning paraphernalia at Mikey's finger tips.

'So you wanna clue me in here Mikey?'

The daemon hesitated in his litany, turning shining black eyes to his tethered charge. He found himself caught again between irritation and admiration for the courage of the battered hunter before him.

Never before had he dealt with an adversary who so taxed his renowned ability to break both delicate spirit and fragile body. Yet here was this man challenging him for an explanation of actions that he was powerless to influence. Mikey couldn't help but smile. He carefully put down the summoning bowl.

'Very well Dean. We have a little time. Let me enlighten you! It was, as you know, my intention to use you to drag Sam to my side and have him offer himself to my Master'

Mikey paused, and licked his lips, laughing at the flare of anger that darkened Dean's pale jade eyes.

'Where was I? Oh yes Dean, to have your beautiful brother...'

He paused and ran his hand along Dean's jaw.

'Don't be jealous, not as beautiful as you of course!'

Dean jerked his head away from the butterfly touch, and Mikey grinned as he continued.

So my intention was to have Sam offer himself willingly, at my behest, to Lucifer. Thing is Dean, as we have enjoyed our chat together it's become apparent to me that you were not going to be cooperative and help me persuade Sammy to my cause'

Mikey placed his hands on the table either side of the dagger and leaned in so their faces were level.

'Even though I asked so nicely!'

They were so close that Mikey's hot breath caressed Dean's cheek.

'Yeah Dude, you're a pussy cat!'

Dean snarked, watching nervously as Mikey straightened back up from the table, trailing his fingers over the handle of the dagger.

'Oh Dean, how thoughtless of me!'

The daemon pursed his lips in mock concern, following the hunter's nervous eyes to the dagger hilt.

'Your poor hand must be so sore. And I'm going to need this momentarily...'

Dean was unprepared as the daemon clamped his vice-like hand onto Dean's tethered wrist and grabbed the hilt of the fine dagger with his right hand. The small movements of the blade lanced through Dean's hand, banishing welcome paraesthesia and reawakening pain. Dean gasped his tired eyes dilating with pain. The daemon savoured Dean's response, his eyes dilating with pleasure.

'So Dean, where did that leave me? Sam unwilling to come to my Masters table, you refusing to coerce him. And what use would he have been then anyway? No point offering a pathetic weak Sam to my Master. That would only compromise my standing with him still further'

'So Mikey a bit of a no hoper all round eh! Why not call it a day huh? We'll all go on our way and no harm done!'

'Ah Dean, you are so amusing!'

Mikey laughed, his slender fingers slowly stroking the dagger hilt into a rhythmic cadence. Needles of fire lanced through Dean's hand and he bit down on the inside of his lip to contain his cries.

'I have to admit to being distressed at that point, but that was before I realised that Sam was only a small part of the richness that is the Winchester legend. How I could have been so blind to not see the fact that you, are in fact, the strength behind Sam, stuns me now Dean. I can see clearly that Sam will never achieve the potential my Master sees in him without you. How could I have overlooked that it is you who simmers with the strength to achieve unlimited heights. I was such a fool!'

Mikey's eyes flashed, his voice rising in intensity as his desire rippled from his body, and Dean watched him with incredulity and fear, unable to equate the daemons words with himself, but terrified by their intent.

'Thus Dean, my plan is to summon Lucifer and instead of offering him a pathetic broken Sam Winchester, I will show him the untapped power that is Dean Winchester. And he will take you and bend you painfully to his will, as he feeds from your strength. And I will sit again at his right hand as he does this, and watch as your pure power is corrupted. I will watch you beg for crumbs from his table and for the gentle touch of his mighty hand, and when he is done with you and your power wanes and the Masters interest in you in gone, I will ask Lucifer to give you to me, and I will complete your descent to ruin and desolation.'

666

Raguel rose and looked across to Sam, Jo and Raphael, his eyes lingering momentarily on Raphe's. The grey haired man's brows rose in question and Raguel glanced down at their companion on the bed. Uri sat quietly, his eyes downcast but his breathing calmer. Raguel made a barely detectible shake of his head, conveying to Raphael the fragile state of their injured companion.

Jo watched the exchange between the two older men and was touched at the wealth of compassion and love the brief exchange demonstrated. She found herself worried for the enigmatic white haired stranger who had burst so dramatically into her life, worried for him physically and spiritually, and that thought took her spinning breathlessly back to Dean.

White eyes became warm jade, and Jo was back in the hunt for the poltergeist that had be the precursor to the horror they now found themselves embroiled in. Had it only been a few days ago? It seemed like forever.

Peanut M&Ms! She's known when she found them in the Impala's glove box that they were Dean's secret stash but she was bored with he and Sam's combined snoring as she took her turn staking out the house. And anyway she really had only meant to eat two or three!

The look on Dean's face had been a picture when he'd woken to take over from her, and reached for the large bag of candy to find only a couple of pieces left.

'You ate my all my M&Ms?'

He'd looked at her accusingly through heavily lashed sleepy green eyes, his full lips held in a childish pout, and Jo had giggled, leaned across the bench seat towards him and rattled the nearly empty bag in his hands,

'Not ALL, Dean!'

'I was saving them!'

The pout intensified, and Jo remembered being distracted wondering if his lips would feel as soft to kiss as they looked. She had laughed at him then and said she buy him some more. To which he'd replied petulantly that he didn't want more, he wanted those!

At which point Jo had snatched back the bag, saying

'OK then I might as well finish them!'

And Dean had pounced across the seat wrestling her playfully for the remaining candy.

Their laughter had woken Sam and his sleepy face, framed by wild shaggy brown hair had poked over the seat back to observe their tussle.

'What're you doing?'

He'd yawned, scratching at an itchy back, and Dean and Jo had halted their battle, each guiltily leaving go of the bits of each other they had grabbed hold of in their eagerness to win the remaining chocolate prize.

'Sorry Sam!'

They had both mumbled in unison, matching blushes colouring their cheeks, and Dean had said in a suitably embarrassed voice.

'She stole my M&Ms!'

Jo had giggled and Sam had watched for a second or two as they both collapsed into hysterics before shaking his head and reclaiming the back seat with a sleepy threat

'Behave both of you or neither of you'll get your candy!'

Jo smiled the memory warming her, taking her fleetingly to a happier place. But it was momentary and Sam's urgent voice cannoned her back into the oppressive atmosphere of the small hotel room seconds later.

Sam had risen to his impossibly tall full height and was standing in the centre of the shabby room, commanding the attention of their three new companions. His face was pale, but his hazel eyes shone with determination and his stance spoke of steel.

'I want to go get my brother now.'

He said calmly, and Raguel rose and walked to stand before him.

'Yes, Sam let's go get our family back'

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"My Tartarus" proved relatively easy to find and they parked the cars a distance from the imposing old house and moved in on foot, the thick blanket of snow silencing their tread, but lighting them with reflected moon brightness. The going was rough on Uriel and he leaned increasingly on Raphael for support, but he did not complain, and urged his companions on with an inpatient nod when asked if he was OK. Jo was pleased to see determination return to his pale countenance and her admiration for him climbed in line with his stoical silence.

They had discussed the plans for the rescue before loading the cars, relying again on the intelligence Uri had gather on the house, and their shared knowledge of daemon lore. The fact that part of "My Tartarus" was built on what had once been but was no longer, consecrated ground, seemed significant, everyone agreeing that it was likely that would be where the daemon would choose to hold Dean, the withdrawn presence of the holy blessing no doubt contributing to the daemons power.

The plan was to move in on the west wing of the house, as it sat on part of the plot that had housed a family chapel of the original owners. The upper floors of the house in this wing were derelict but the lower floor and large cellar rooms were intact and habitable at the time of the sale, so they planned to commence their search for Dean in that area. When they found him, Sam and Jo would concentrate on getting Dean out whilst the Raphael would call on his powers and lead the brothers in binding the daemon, thus releasing Michael.

They stole towards the silent house, determined in their shared quest, as the hours of Michaelmas trickled away.

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Dean watched in surprise as the daemon suddenly paled and dropped both hands to the table for support as he staggered to remain upright. Sweat poured from Mikey's brow and his chest pumped in and out as he fought to breath. He tossed his head back and shuddered deeply.

'They ...are ...here!'

The daemon's voice was strained, his anger bubbling beneath a show of bravado as he turned his evil black eyes on Dean.

'Well this is an unexpected pleasure, but how appropriate! Little Mikey's brothers and your Sam, Dean, here just in time to see you pass into purgatory and I into glory!'

Dean felt his heart leap first with relief that the cavalry had indeed arrived, and then seconds after with terror that his brother was going to be drawn into his nightmare. But he saw how the news had unnerved the daemon and he pressed forward fighting for any small advantage he could win.

'Yeah well Mikey we'll see about that huh! Look why don't you just untie me now and I'll get out of your way and you can visit with you bros?'

Dean strained his left hand against the rope tying it to the chair arm and raised his eyebrow questioningly to the daemon.

'Indeed Dean. I think it is time to untie you'

Dean's eye brows shot higher in surprise.

Nah can't be that easy Dean, Winchester luck don't run to a free get -out -of -jail card! Keep your cool, something else is coming!

The daemon moved swiftly and although Dean was braced expecting some occurrence, he had not fully anticipated Mikey's next move.

The daemon's hand closed around the silver wired hilt of the dagger and leaning in to press on the young hunter's wrist to gain some purchase, drew it with exquisite slowness from the ragged wound that punched through Dean's trembling hand.

Dean gasped as the slivering blade sliced through flesh and tendons and quivering nerve fibres. He pulled desperately against the daemons grip desperate to escape the agony engendered by the delicate blade. The motion ate away at his ruined shoulder and jarred broken rib against rib and the screaming cacophony of pain he endured tore a shuddering cry from his cracked lips as blackness enveloped him.

Chapter end

Mikey and me'd love a review, so if you have a moment...


	8. Chapter 8

**The Fallen by DeansBabyBird**

Here you go, Here comes one ginormous baby brother and a gaggle of associated divinity to the rescue. Thanks to Kirsty and Lou as always and to you all for reviewing. Much appreciated, oh and to that denius Kripke of course for allowing us such wonder to play with.

Chapter Eight. Here Comes The Cavalry

Dean could smell damp earth and feel cold radiating through his broken body from the surface beneath him. He opened dry, gritty eyes experimentally, and it confirmed for him that he was lying face down on a dirt floor.

Oh well Dean, at least we're out of Mikey's minimalist den and dirt is fractionally softer than that damned wooden floor!

He raised his head slightly, and the room spun and bucked like a cheap fairground ride. He swallowed hard, biting down the urge to be puke, and looked around his new quarters, relishing the fact that he was untied and could move those limbs that were not burning with pain, for the first time in days.

The room was lit with a myriad of candles, and Dean realised that burning wax and soot were adding to the smell from the compacted soil beneath him to smear the room with a fetid, oily stench.

It appeared to be a cellar of some sort. The walls were of crumbling brick, slimy and green with algae in places, from years of dripping rainwater and winter frosts. It was windowless, as had the other room been, and Dean realised he had no idea if it were day or night or how long it had actually been since the daemon took him in the parking lot of the bar. He found himself longing to be warmed by pale sunlight, or to feel a breeze or the soft rain on his burning skin, or to see the cool silver-blue of the moon.

'Ah Dean, you're awake. What perfect timing!'

The daemon moved from the shadows towards the figure on the floor, and Dean kicked out with his remaining strength, his bare foot making painful contact with the daemons knee. The grunt of pain as he went down was music to Dean's ears,

Yeah Mikey! Your turn now! Suck it up you bastard!

And the hunter rode his adrenaline surge to throw himself on top of the daemon, his own cry of pain matching the daemons as he pushed his ravaged body to its limits.

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Sam heard the muffled cry of pain as the 5 of them mounted the once imposing steps leading to the now derelict west wing of 'My Tartarus'

'Dean!'

The impassioned shout was out of his throat before he could bite it back and, with Jo on his heels, he sprinted on impossibly long legs past the Brothers and into the darkness of the ruin before them, Raguel's desperate plea for caution lost to his panicked racing heart.

A number of rooms opened off the hall way and Jo nodded silently to Sam as he indicated the order they would take them in. Jo took low guard position, the position that Dean normally worked, to Sam's high, as they held their matched Glock's before them and cased the derelict rooms.

Behind them, as they moved efficiently and swiftly from room to room they could hear the Brothers catching them up, their progress hampered by Uri's painful but determined hobble.

Sam moved further into the gloom and turned the corner at the end of the corridor, Jo at his elbow. They hesitated, light coming towards them from the partially open door.

Jo started as Raguel laid his strong hand flat against her back.

'We are close. I think I can feel Michael's presence. It's confused with others but I'm sure he is very near'

Jo nodded tightly. Glancing back into the gloom she saw a breathless Uriel, supported by Raphe's strong arm, almost upon their heels.

'Ready Jo?

Sam's strained voice held all the anxiety that similarly knotted at Jo's belly, and his brown eyes were totally dark, his pupils dilated to the max as apprehension, fear, and the overwhelming need to get to Dean flooded him with adrenaline.

They moved silently forward, Sam taking the lead position as they reached the door.

'On three. OK?'

He mouthed to the tiny hunter beside him, his muscle's singing with tension. He counted the roll and let fly with his powerful leg, careening the door back on its hinges, and they were in the room.

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Dean used his weight and muscle bulk to pin the daemon to the dirt floor, his right elbow forced into Mikey's Adams apple making him choke and wheeze for breath.

'Suck it...up ...you fugly... bastard!'

Dean gasped out defiantly but he knew that he was losing the battle. He couldn't use his left arm at all, couldn't even lift it now, but his decreasing motor function was matched exponentially with pain. He could see bright spots at the periphery of his rapidly tunnelling vision and he knew it would only be a short time before the daemon bested him. But he also knew that minutes counted, that Sam was somewhere near and any time he could buy his brother might make the difference.

Mikey clawed his hands at the hunters asphyxiating arm as Dean drilled his elbow into the soft tissues of his neck. It was unusual for him to be on the receiving end of physical pain and perversely, he savoured the momentary experience. He looked into the hunter's eyes and was angered to see renewed hope in the sparkling jade. His fury surged and he let go of Dean's arm and grunting with effort, dragged his hand slowly up to the boy's damaged shoulder.

The daemon's sharp fingers blindly but cruelly explored the gaping wound that the truck's wing mirror had sliced into the firm flesh and muscle of Dean's shoulder, and found the large sliver of glass that still lay embedded in the puffy, swollen tissues. He grasped the blood slicked shard and forced with strong talons, driving the glassy blade deeper into the gaping wound, cleaving fragile soft tissue until ravaged bone halted its cruel ingress.

Dean felt the cold hand close on his shoulder and knew his temporary dominance over the daemon was ended. Pain that drove the breath from his labouring lungs and paralysed his limbs with its intensity reverberated through him, and he was powerless to offer any defence as the daemon inconsequentially tossed him to the filthy floor.

Mikey got to his feet and raised his hand to his mouth, casually licking at the hunter's crimson blood as it dripped from his clawed fingers. He looked down at his captive, and drank in the waxy pallor of his flawless skin and the weakness of utter exhaustion that flowed from him.

He reached down and grabbing at the boy's mattered hair dragged him towards the dark altar he had prepared.

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Sam checked urgently round the brightly lit room, his steady Glock-filled hand sweeping every corner and plane, his heart sinking as he saw it was empty of the figure he had prayed to see. At his shoulder, Jo mirrored his actions and they completed their fruitless search together, lowering their weapons in bitter harmony as the Angels entered the room.

The room gave them all pause, as its stylish modern furnishings were so incongruous with the ruined, near derelict state of the building that housed them.

Raphe eased Uriel onto the nearest chair, the smaller man allowing a tight groan slip from his lips as his trembling body relaxed and Raphe placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, understanding the effort the progress to this point had cost his friend.

'M' Okay, Raphe'

Uri's voice was clipped, shimmering with exhaustion and Jo felt her heart go out to him but it was his choice of words that made her start, and the desire to see Dean and hear him whisper the same so familiar words, was overwhelming.

Raguel moved to the large table to join Sam and Jo, each of them staring in horror at the lake of recent blood on its surface. Raguel watched as Jo's eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth as she bit down on the bile that flooded her throat. Her memory streaked back to the snowy, ruby splattered parking lot and the pathetic crumpled form lying broken on the ground that was her friend; possible more-than-friend and she longed for an end to this nightmare. She stepped closer to Sam seeking the comfort of his presence and was eternally grateful when she felt him reciprocate her touch.

'Michael is very close by'

Raguel held Uri's gaze as he spoke, his pale blue eyes transferring strength and fortitude for the final push to the injured angel.

'And Dean?'

Sam was almost too afraid to ask but in the short time he had known them he had come to trust his new companions implicitly, and he so needed to know that he was at least near to Dean. Raphael answered.

'They are together. I see a dank underground chamber. Dean lives, but he is weakening as is Michael, we must finish this before it is too late.'

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Dean lay on the cold floor next to the black altar and listened to distant sound of the daemon's triumphant voice as he began to speak the litany that was the summoning ritual.

'Lucifer meus senior quod vincoego dico ut thee exorior in obscurum' (Lucifer, my Lord and Master, I call to thee. Come forth into the darkness)

The words were familiar and their intent filled him with stark terror, but renewed and sickening pain kept him from reacting. Every fibre of his being pulsed with raw biting agony that stole the breath from his gasping lungs, and he was so cold that the warm blood pouring from his cleaved shoulder burned his flesh by its contrast.

'Per cruor of putus ego dico thee continus!' (With the blood of the Pure I call the forth!)

The daemon paused and turned from the altar, its shining black eyes taking in the trembling form sprawled on the floor, and he smiled, delighting in the destruction he had wrought on the hunter's fragile flesh. He crouched, and gently, with a tender hand, raised Dean's head from the floor.

'Come, my Sweet! It is time for you to fulfil your destiny and learn to walk in My Master's shadow. A few drops of your blood now and the summoning will be complete!'

Dean's head lolled in the daemon's embrace, his dilated eyes a sea of deepest green against his bruised skin.

'Kneel before the altar!'

With supreme effort Dean raised his head from the daemon's icy hand, his voice a cracked whisper, ground out.

'Fuck...You ...Mikey!'

The daemon rose, a feral snarl on his twisted lips as the boys defiance burned through him. He drew back his elegantly booted foot and drove it into Dean's ribs, again and again and again.

Dean jerked against the thudding impact of the daemons blows as his ribs snapped like dry winter firewood beneath his guarding hands. Sweet, salty blood tricked from his mouth as the daemon dragged him to his knees before the altar and wrenching his arm over the silver vessel, pressed the Dagger of Danaus to Dean's unresisting wrist.

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The stairs down to the cellar were slick with the decay of the crumbling ruin and the corruption of its evil purpose and Jo moved with caution, picking out the treads both for herself and Raphe and Raguel with her torch, as they virtually carried Uri to the door at their base.

Sam waited at the tattered door tension bristling in his coiled body, impatient to end this tortured nightmare. As the others reached him he looked to Raphe, seeking the calm strength in his grey eyes.

'So when we enter you and Jo get to Dean, get him away from the daemon and out of the house as quickly as you dare.'

He paused glancing also to Jo's tense face to check they understood.

'We will force the daemon from Michael's body freeing him, and bind the daemon so he can do no further harm.'

Raphe's voice was soft and calm in the confined space, but Sam could sense unease in his words and could not help but see the flicker of hesitant glances that passed between the Angels. Jo too saw the fear in their eyes and she placed her hand on Uri's wrist as he leaned against Raguel for support.

'We have bound daemons before Jo but as a four, with Michael's strength augmenting ours. One of Michael's offices is 'to rescue the souls of the faithful from the power of the enemy, especially at the hour of their death. So we could really use him about now!'

He raised an ironic eyebrow, a tight smile creasing his lips.

'What the Hell Hunny! Three Angels gotta trump one daemon don't they?'

Jo dragged her disbelieving eyes from the sparkling white gaze as the door splintered before her and she was swept forward with her companions into the fetid cellar room.

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The daemon howled with rage as the pure light emanating from the trio of Angels lit the room, driving away the darkness before them. He felt the power of the summoning waning and in fury, slashed at Dean's arm with the dagger, seeking his pure blood -desperate to complete the ritual and regain his Master Lucifer.

The Angels moved with easy grace, their voices rose in harmony speaking the words of the Binding, forcing the daemon to retreat from his captive and seek the sanctuary of his dark altar.

'Impedio is prenuncius of evil wrest is ex aminus nostri frater Michael Quod iacio is tenus eternus carcer ut est Tartarus!' (Hold fast this harbinger of evil. Wrest from it the soul of our brother Michael and cast it down to the eternal prison that is Tartarus!)

Sam watched in horror as blood fountained from Dean's forearm as the glimmering dagger slashed through his flesh, and he lunged, diving to the floor to catch his brother, as Dean slumped bonelessly from the grip of the retreating daemon.

Jo was hard on his heels and between them they absorbed most of the impact as Dean crumpled into their willing arms.

'Dean! Dean!'

Sam's voice was frantic and he gently shook his brother's unresponsive body, pressing his hand to Dean's neck seeking a pulse. He looked to Jo utter panic in his brown eyes.

'Can't find a pulse Jo!'

Jo was white with terror but she pushed Sam's hand aside and gently placed her fingers to Dean's carotid, her eyes never leaving Sam's. Seconds became hours as deep hazel and honey brown held each other in undisguised panic.

'There!'

Jo snatched Sam's shaking hand and held it with hers to Dean's waxy skin as the faintest thrum of life quivered beneath their grateful fingers. They cast their eyes over Dean's inert form, and Jo felt tears prickle her eyes as she watched Sam's large and gentle hands tally his injuries, seeking to understand how to limit any further damage they might do as they moved him to freedom.

His shoulder was clearly badly injured, his arm anteriorly displaced from its socket and hanging at a sickening angle across his chest. His T-shirt was tattered and stiff with old blood made newly sticky with gushing crimson, the source of which was the gaping maw that sliced from his exposed collar bone to his upper arm. His right hand was similarly rent, and crusted with dried blood. His left forearm was a torrid ruby river dripping to the dirt making bloody mud pies.

Jo reached for Dean's T-shirt and exposed his abdomen, in the mirror of her gesture of an eternity ago. The pattern of bruising she remembered from that moment in the bar was still there, but it was enhanced obscenely and highlighted in two places by the unique opacity of bone where broken rib ends tore through the mottled skin. She gently placed her hand on his belly and felt the fire of fever lick at her.

Dean could feel hands touching him and though he knew intuitively that they were kinder than those of his most recent companion, they were awakening every one of the myriad and diverse agonies that were his reluctant guests currently and he wanted them to please stop! However, he could not seem to get his eyes to open to check who was feeling him up so painfully. He knew finding his voice was going to be a trial, so he settled for the most important word he could think of and started with that.

'Sam?'

It was the merest hint of a whisper, but it stopped Sam in his tracks, halted the breath in his chest.

'Dean!'

Chapter ends

All reviews gratefully received!


	9. Chapter 9

**The Fallen by DeansBabyBird**

OK so we're nearly there, you all still with me? One more chapter after this. With the grace as always of my Beta girls, Lou and Kirsty.xx Oh and of course, the master Kripke who gave us the boys to play with.

Chapter Nine. Redemption or Destruction?

Uriel felt the divine power of the Angel Trinity flood his body with strength and light, and rejoiced in the knowledge that their onerous task was almost at conclusion, and his brother Michael would soon be freed from the agony of his daemonic confinement. He chanced a glance at his brothers and saw their lips moving in perfect harmony with his, as the words of the binding sang from their souls.

'Nos smite thee turpis daemon pervox of Senior, quod effrego vinculum nostrum angelus frater Michael in vestry inflecto!'

(We smite thee foul daemon with the power of the Lord, and break the bond that holds our angel brother Michael in your sway!)

The Angels advanced on the daemon, and he retreated, writhing against the purity of their invocation. Between them they held the ribbon of light that was the binding as it shimmered and pulsed with their shared energy, ready to finally ensnare their unholy quarry.

The daemon hissed, and rage turned his face into a feral snarl as the agony of the Angels power tore at the black fortress in which he held their brother.

He shrieked and the seething venom of his rage swirled and eddied around the room, stealing the oxygen from their broiling lungs and vaporising the final words of the binding from the air. The ribbon of light that was the angelic snare flickered and died and Uriel felt terror grasp his heart as the daemon raised his hands and flung the Angels to the corners of the room.

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Sam and Jo watched in mute horror as the hypnotic voices of the Angels were lost in the maelstrom of evil that poured from the daemon, and the balance of power in the divine battle tipped toward Lucifer's minion.

Sam wrapped his arms protectively around Dean, his eyes beseeching Jo to understand his silent directions, and as the tiny hunter rose and knowingly fled before him, he desperately clutched his bloodied brother to his chest and made for the door.

They managed only a few steps before their feet were wrenched from beneath them and as they tumbled to the floor, Sam felt his brother's body inexorably torn from his embrace, as the daemon strode menacingly towards them.

Sam rolled as he landed and fought the flow of this fall to try to reach for Dean, his only thought to defend his brother from the vile creature that had so damaged him. At his side, Jo pivoted on knees scraped raw, similarly grabbing for the barely conscious hunter, as the daemon twitched his hand and flung them effortlessly to the fetid wall of the room.

Mikey smiled, as he observed his captives held by the power of his will, on the periphery of the chamber. He laughed maniacally, and the Angels writhed in pain in his daemonic embrace. Then his face stilled, and he turned his eyes from them to the crumpled form on the floor before him.

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The daemon knelt, and tenderly repositioned Dean so he could cradle the hunter's head in the crook of his arm. Mikey shook him gently, sighing as long lashes parted and pale jade eyes fluttered open, and he spoke Dean's name softly, in a grotesque parody of Sam's very recent actions.

'Leave him alone, you sick bastard!'

Sam was shouting, every syllable screaming the panic that he felt as the daemon touched his brother. He thrashed desperately against the wall, oblivious to the fierce scrape of the crumbling brick on his back, as he fought the invisible hand that pinned him in place. He could not bear to see as the daemon laid his thin, pale hands on Dean's fevered skin, nor contemplate what the creature planned next for his gravely injured brother. He looked to the Angels and saw his despair and his terror at their daemonic confinement, mirrored in their pain-filled eyes.

'Help him!'

Sam's cry was a tortured plea, and in their ungodly shackles the Angels wept silently for his anguish.

'Open your eyes Dean'

The daemon crooned softly as he stroked his cool hand down Dean's bruised cheek, and tears poured down Jo's face as she heard her friend's confused whisper.

'Sam?'

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Dean's vision was blurry; his grip on reality fragile, and it took a number of seconds for the face before him to coalesce into that of the daemon.

In that eternity, the shreds of hope that Sam had indeed found him and he was saved, withered. The last vestiges of defiance and fight leeched from his failing body, and he was dragged to the edge of the black abyss that was his loneliness.

He had been so sure that Sam had come for him. That he was not alone, scared and dying in agony but that he had felt Sam's strong arms enfold him and that he had heard his brother call his name, and it had been enough.

To see Sam one last time. To know that he was okay, had warmed Dean from cadaverous frigidity and had made his near intolerable pain inconsequential. He had rejoiced that in his last moments he would feel warm arms enfold him and that he would have a final image of his brother's love to imprint on his fleeing soul.

He drew in a shuddering breath, too weak now to hide his brokenness from the smiling devil that held him, and felt tears track from his liquid emerald eyes as he closed them in abject defeat.

The daemon watched the play of emotion on Dean's face with enraptured pleasure. He observed as sudden, desperately anticipated hope was crushed to be replaced by exquisite anguish. And his smile was one of triumph as the fire of defiance flickered and finally died, and tears of despair stained the boys beautiful face.

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Sam watched in impotent agony, the daemon stopping his screamed entreaties with a casual sweep of a finger, as his brother's feverish eyes flickered open.

He knew Dean could barely focus on what was right in front of him; that the rest of the room had become dark fog, rendering him, Jo and the Angels as good as invisible to his suffering sibling.

And he could only endure in silenced wretchedness as he watched hope die in his brother's translucent green eyes, and saw waves of loss and grief and loneliness diminish his indominatible spirit.

Rage rose within Sam, and he fought against the daemonic restraints shackling his body, but to no avail, and rage became terror as he watched his brother weep brokenly in the arms of evil.

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Uriel's pain was immense, his barely healed leg shattering again under the daemons onslaught, but it was as nothing compared to the pain that rent his heart asunder as he watched his beloved brother Michael destroying Dean. He knew, deep inside himself, that though he saw Michael's physical body torment the hunter, it was the daemon that possessed him that wrought this ungodly terror and pain. It did not make it easier to bear though and his soul wept for Dean and Sam as they suffered.

He pushed out from his pure spirit into the foul amalgam that was Mikey, and sought to see if anything of his brother remained to be rescued and redeemed.

Mikey felt the unexpected intrusion of divine grace into the body he occupied, and recoiled from its severe purity for just a second, before regaining his dominance and pushing away Uriel's seeking presence.

That second was enough though for Uriel, enough for him to taste the sweet nectar that was his brother's untouched heart and know that redemption might be possible.

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Uriel closed his eyes to the horror before him and sought the hearts of his tormented brothers, bringing to them his discovered hope that Michael did indeed endure, even within the daemon's cruel prison. He rejoiced with them that they might reclaim and restore their brother to their fold. They had but to complete the binding, and thus he grieved collectively with them for the power to achieve their task.

He pushed out again into the room, searching for any speck of power that he might harness to direct to the binding, and tasted the bitter bile that was his enemy's aura. It swirled like a dense black cloud about the daemon and his prostrate captive, cloaking them in evil.

Yet when Uri stared, there was within that darkness, the merest flicker of light and the Angel looked in growing awe at the boy within Mikey's arms, and opened his heart to seek Dean's damaged soul.

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Dean jerked as a whirlwind invaded his trembling body, and gasped in shock as the intruder into his psyche pushed at the defences he had so long and carefully erected, to gaze on the very essence of his being.

He groaned softly as the powerful walls that were his only safety threatened to breach before this all seeing gaze.

Panic escalated within his weakened body, seeking to overwhelm him, and then suddenly he sighed, as the intruder breathed understanding into his tired soul, and showed that he might soothe Dean's every hurt and grief and fear with his gentle love.

Dean knew there were no real words spoken, but he heard the voice of the angel even over the chaos of the room, and the keening of his dying body.

'I am Uriel and I have need of your help.'

Dean rolled his head weakly into a single nod, and in that moment he knew all that had transpired to bring them to this place, and knew also that it was within him to give life to the ribbon of light that would deliver the binding.

And so too had the daemon heard the angel's words, and Dean knew that It would fight to the death to prevent what he must now attempt.

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Mikey felt Uriel reach out to the hunter and was powerless to stop the Angel as he showed Dean his potential to wreak destruction upon daemon kind.

His face twisted as his rage consumed him, and he rose to his feet, dragging Dean by his shattered arm, to the ruin that was the altar of Lucifer.

He fell to his knees beside his captive and locked his hands fiercely onto Dean's chin; his thumbs squeezing urgently at the boy's gagging throat, forcing jade eyes to meet hate filled black.

'I know what they ask of you! But do not listen to them for if you choose their path I will destroy you and everything that you value!'

He spat the words into Dean's face and the hunter recoiled from the spittle that accompanied them.

'Come to me! I can give you more! Lucifer can make you the commander of his armies, with your power you will be his chosen, not Sam!'

Dean saw the desire in those bottomless voids of darkness, an undisguised lust for power, but not in truth for Dean's glory, rather for himself through his return to the grace of his daemon lord.

'Help us Dean, please!'

Uriel's voice was a caress of angelic song though it held no less desire or desperation. What it lacked was the corrupt longing for ruination that was the undertone of the daemon's entreaty.

'I beg you Dean, Help us! Help me to save my brother!'

And Dean heard within Uriel's words an eternity of compassion for Michael; an unbounded love for brother to brother that was mirrored in his own heart.

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Mikey felt his control of the ravaged hunter slipping, and saw, across the room the ribbon of power that was the binding coalescing tentatively into life, as his hold over the Angels began to fail. He let go Dean's chin and clamped his hands onto the boy's elbows, shaking him brutally, drawing soft cries of agony from the hunters cracked lips.

'Listen to me boy!'

Mikey's voice was quiet, but sheathed in menace.

'Cleave to me and we will ascend to greatness and I will trade the Angel's life for Sammy! It is your destiny!'

'No Dean!'

Uriel's strong yet gentle insistence surged within Dean's head, demanding equal sway with that of the daemon.

'Trust me, save Michael and you will save all!'

Bitter dichotomy tore at Dean's remaining awareness, torturing him with agonising decisions that he had no strength left to contemplate. His every fibre cried at him to ensure Sam was protected, but his heart also begged to save the Angel Michael from his unholy torment.

He turned his closing eyes to the corner of the room and found the pure white of Uriel's.

Tell me what to do?

The question was but a silent whisper, as darkness encroached on Dean from all quarters, and Uriel smiled.

'Simply put aside all you know. Forget your fears, lower the barriers that have so long been your defences and open your heart to us! Redemption is within you. Don't be afraid Dean! Trust, simply trust and all will be saved!'

Mikey howled, and releasing Dean's elbow, drove his fist into the hunter's undefended jaw. Crimson kisses arched from the hunters mouth, to splatter the daemons fury filled face as his battered body tumbled to the floor.

Dwindling green fire, found weeping hazel brown and a residue of a familiar voice whispered in Sam's head.

'Trust... me?'

It was a plea, an entreaty for permission to act and a final tender goodbye, and Sam's eyes answered.

'Always'

And he watched as Dean bared his soul before the Angel host.

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Divine power flowed from the Angel trio, searing through Dean's ceasing body and bound his heart to theirs. Humanity, patience, compassion, fearlessness and love flowed from the hunter's stilled form to arc the ribbon of light into fiery candescence.

The Angels clear voices rose over the cacophony within the room and the words of the binding pealed the demise of the daemon.

'Nos smite thee turpis daemon pervox of Senior, quod effrego vinculum nostrum angelus frater Michael in vestry inflecto!'

(We smite thee foul daemon with the power of the Lord, and break the bond that holds our angel brother Michael in your sway!)

Sam screamed as the light of redemption seared the room and the Angels tore free of their daemonic chains to close the ribbon of light around the falling body of their brother Michael.

Raguel's strong arms caught him as he fell and he lowered his brother's body with infinite care to the ground beside Dean's inert form, as Raphe and Uri approached and knelt. They laid their hands on Michael and repeated the words of the binding.

'Nos smite thee turpis daemon pervox of Senior, quod effrego vinculum nostrum angelus frater Michael in vestry inflecto!'

And Mikey howled his torment and eternal damnation as he was riven from Michael's heart.

666

Sam felt the hand of evil that had held him to the stinking wall of the chamber evaporate, as the Angels completed the binding and freed Michael.

He dove to the floor, knowing Jo was at his side, and gently reached his trembling hands towards Dean's still form. Grief paralyzed him as he drew his brother's ravaged body into his arms, rocking him and crooning his name over and over and over.

Jo watched on in torment as raw and unchecked grief assailed her breaking heart. She raised her hand and pressed it to Dean's cold throat, hopelessly praying to feel life where she feared none existed.

666

Michael opened his eyes and gazed on the faces of his beloved brothers and his heart surged with joy.

He felt Raguel's strong commanding hand cradling his head, and he spoke his thanks for his brother's enduring strength in their long quest with his soft violet eyes.

He looked then to Raphael, whose hand rested on his heart, healing for his ordeal flowing from his brother's tranquil presence. He smiled and felt Raphael's balm radiate through his returned body. He saw also that the angel's other hand enfolded their third brother, that same balm flooding into his damaged being.

And then he turned his beautiful face to Uriel, and watched as tears coursed from eyes of colourless purity. Michael reached weakly and Raguel supported him as he took his brother in his thankful arms, silencing Uriel's sobs with tender, whispered words.

666

'Please!'

It was a whisper, a pale ghost of a plea that burned all who heard it with its raw boundless grief, and Michael, The Prince of Angels was touched. His heart took him to the most sacred of his 4 Offices.

"To rescue the faithful from the power of the enemy, especially at the hour of their death"

And he sought the souls of his brothers in wordless entreaty.

They moved to surround Sam and Jo as they sat in the dirt, clutching Dean's cold body, Michael leaning on Raguel and Raphe supporting Uriel.

The Angels knelt enfolding the brothers and Jo in their presence, and Michael smiled, a wondrous smile that radiated peace as he placed his trembling hand over Dean's heart.

Soft light flooded the chamber, and Sam had no way to stop his tears as a single word resonated softly in his heart, and soft jade eyes sought hazel brown.

'Sam'

Chapter ends

Reviews will ensure that we have a final chapter to bandage him up and make him all better!


	10. Chapter 10

**The Fallen by DeansBabyBird**

Ok, all those of you who have stayed with me to the end, thanks I really appreciate it. Hope you enjoy the bandaging and suturing! Thanks to Lou and Kirsty for getting me to the end of this. You are the best beta's anyone could have. bev xxxx OH and the sequel...'So Not An Angel!' will be coming to soon, I hope to see some of you again maybe.

Chapter Ten Sutures and Sympathy.

'Sam!'

Dean's exhausted voice was muffled as his face was pressed into Sam's shirt front, held there by his brother's long arms which were wrapped tightly about him.

'Too...tight...Dude! Can't... breathe! ...Lemme...go!'

Sam relented and eased his grip slightly, allowing Dean to relax in his embrace and lean away from his trembling sibling. The older hunter breathed deeply and swayed a little, the simple act of holding himself upright proving challenging and he found himself eased back into Jo's arms. He blinked; long lashes sweeping over sleepy jade eyes, as he let his head flop back so he could look up into her tear filled honey brown eyes.

'Hey Jo!'

Dean's voice was slurred, he sounded drunk and Jo smiled thinking back to the start of this nightmare, that happy night in the bar, when it had been Sam who had sounded like Dean did now.

'Missed...ya!'

Dean smiled a lopsided million kilowatt smile, and Jo's face crumpled into tears as she rested her cheek against his matted hair.

'Me too Dean, I missed you too!'

Her voice trembled and she carefully drew him closer to her, desperate to hold him whilst trying to avoid his many wounds.

666

Michael watched Jo and Sam's tears as they held Dean, and he tightened his arm around Uri's shoulders, gratitude for his release from his long imprisonment shinning in his ethereal violet eyes.

He looked at Raguel and at Raphe's bowed head as he laid his healing hands on Uri's injured body, and he drank in his brothers' strength and serenity, feeling utterly at peace.

At his side he felt Uri flinch, a quiet groan escaping his tightly pressed lips, and Michael turned his face to his youngest brother; his heart grieving as he saw the pain of his wounds etched in his strained features.

He raised his hand and placed it softly on Raphael's arm in silent question, as he sought his eyes.

Raphael could not hide his exhaustion as he acknowledged his brothers touch, and he heard Michael's much missed voice softly in his head.

'Enough, Raphe! You have no more to give to him at this moment. Uriel's healing will be long won and you know we must all play our part in achieving it. Stop now before we have you as a casualty to tend to as well!'

Raphael held their gaze for a moment, turmoil on his loving face, the need to heal and restore his brother coursing though his body, before Michael's wisdom won out. He nodded once and his tired gaze followed Raguel's to look upon Uriel, as Michael spoke.

'Uri?'

Pain filled White eyes flickered open, panic etched on the younger man's drawn features until he could reconnect with Michael's gentle face.

'We must get you home, Uri! Raphe is exhausted, from the binding and all he has done so far to ease your pain. We must find ourselves again; restore our equilibrium and strength! We cannot do that here so we must get you home. Can you bear your pain a little longer?'

Uri nodded, his heart too full to speak without tears falling again, and he leaned into Michael's strong arms, closing his tired eyes in acquiescence.

666

Sam started as the Angel's rose, their presence in the room having been lost to him as his whole focus was on Dean, and he stood to greet them.

'We must away Sam!'

Raguel placed his strong hands on Sam's shoulders as he spoke. Behind him Raphe helped Michael as he lifted Uriel into his strong arms.

'Forgive me, Sam'

Raphe voice sang of his exhaustion, as he gazed through tired eyes at Sam.

'I would finish Dean's healing but I have nothing more now to give. He is pulled back from the brink, but it will be a long road for him yet...'

Sam glanced down at Jo as she held Dean in her arms. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was shallow but even.

'I understand Raphe and I can never thank you for what you have done. All of you''

Sam's intense brown eyes held the Angel's and his gratitude was written there for all to see.

'Jo and I will look after him now'

'The wounds will heal, with care and time. But you must see he rests! It is vital that he heals his spirit and soul as well as his body. It will not be easy for him. Sam nodded, knowing how difficult it would be to enforce rest on his brother's constantly active persona yet determined he would ensure it happened somehow.

'We will be back Sam!'

Michael's hauntingly pale eyes commanded Sam's.

'Much has happened here, and we have seen Dean's power. We will return to help him understand his potential, and to deal with all that it brings. I fear we will have need of him in the future Sam! Need of you all! This daemon was but one and they are legion. This thing is not ended!'

Sam felt a cold terror flood his body as he glanced at Dean, and saw the wounds, pain and anguish that his battered body had endured, and was terrified for what might be to come. He wanted to protect him, save him, as Dean had always protected him but he feared that he might not be able to.

The Angels moved to the centre of the room and Sam felt energy beginning to build around them. He heard Dean inhale sharply and he looked nervously to the older hunter as he laid in Jo's arms.

Dean's eyes were wide open, and he looked suddenly distressed, his gaze alarmed with pain and fear. Then, as Sam watched he found the faces of the Angels, and his fear dissipated to be replaced by recognition, serenity and peace.

Light flooded the room, emanating from the Angels, and from Dean. The shared light blended and built until it was blinding. Sam closed his eyes against its intensity and when he reopened them, the Angels were gone and he and Jo and Dean were alone in the dim room

666

Dean felt the energy of the Angels depart, and was instantly much more keenly aware of the pain of his various wounds and the overwhelming bone numbing tiredness he felt. He suddenly had no strength to hold himself upright and he sighed as he slumped back against Jo's embrace.

Jo felt Dean rest back against her as the brilliance of the Angels departure faded, and she called to Sam, concern in her voice.

Sam was on his knees in a second at Dean's side his worried eyes taking in his brothers battered from. He spoke softly, gently laying his big hand on Dean's leg to rouse him.

'Hey Dean? Stay with me Dude!'

Pale green eyes fluttered open, and a slight smile broke through Dean's pain filled expression.

'You ...OK... Sammy?'

His voice was raw and gravelled, but it sounded wonderful to Sam's ears.

'I'm good Bro, how 'bout you?'

Sam watched Dean's face and waited to see his usual retort of 'm fine!', but for an instant Dean couldn't paper over the cracks torn into his heavily constructed walls; couldn't hide his pain from Sam, and his soft whisper tore at Sam's heart.

'Wanna ...go...home ...Sam,... don't ...really...like ...it ...much...here!'

Jo felt her heart breaking as she watched the brothers' exchange and she drew her arms a little tighter around Dean, wanting to comfort him, but only succeeding in having him flinch as her embrace increased his pain.

'We're going Dean, hang on. We're going home!'

Dean's eyes closed again as he nodded his head weakly, and Sam looked to Jo.

'How are we gonna get him outta here?'

Jo was looking at the steep flight of steps that exited the dank cellar, knowing how difficult it had been getting Uri down those steps with his injured leg, and they had had Raguel to help them.

Sam gaze had followed hers and she knew he was thinking the same as she. He looked back at Jo, his face determined.

'I'll carry him!'

'Sam he's heavy and those steps are steep! If you're gonna carry him you need to let me help. It'll be safer!'

Sam shook his head, a look of determination on his face, his shaggy brown hair sweeping over intense eyes.

'No way Jo ...'

'Hey guys?'

Dean's voice was quiet, a slight smile on his dry cracked lips as he watched their heated exchange.

'In...in the ...room here!'

Sam and Jo looked shamefaced at each other and Jo touched her hand tenderly to Dean's cheek.

'Sorry Dean!'

'Anyway'

Dean shifted slightly in Jo's arms, trying to draw himself that bit more upright only to have the refreshed level of pain that the small movement engendered knock the breath out of him.

Sam's hand flew to Dean's shoulder trying to stop him moving further, but he only succeeding finding another of Dean's injuries, eliciting another hiccup of pain. Dean managed a small weak glare, coughing slightly.

'Anyway, I...can ...walk!'

Sam couldn't help the sharp laugh that escaped his throat, as he looked down into his brother's determined but un-focussed eyes.

'Dean, you can barely do conscious at the moment! How in hell do you think you are gonna walk? You have a busted shoulder; your hand's torn up and how about those broken ribs? Still hurting like a bitch Huh?

That's not taking into account the huge gash in your other arm or the fact that you're face looks like a train wreck or the pints of blood all over the floor that oughta be inside not outside of ya!'

'Well...Hell Sammy!'

Dean's green eyes flashed dangerously, his hoarse voice growling threateningly, and Jo smiled seeing the age old battle of Winchester wills firing his non-existent energy.

'I sure as hell ain't letting you carry me up there!'

He paused panting a little at the effort it had taken to get that short sentence out in one go. He moved again in Jo's arms managing to lean slightly more upright, almost but not quite managing to hide his groan of pain.

'Remember that time in Tupelo? What was it you said? "I got ya, Dean!" '

Dean shifted a touch more, Jo feeling his hitching breathing where he lay pressed against her, as he turned his head slightly to look into her amused face.

'Ask him ...what happened that time...Jo?'

Dean's eyes flashed back to Sam as he fought to regain his breath and Jo followed his gaze to find Sam's look of embarrassment. Jo raised her eyes in amused enquiry.

'OK, so I dropped ya! But we were running from the freaky 'I'm more dead than you are!' twins at the time and I seem to remember that I had a concussion that I'd acquired when you pulled down that wall on them!'

Sam's fierce look belied any real anger as he played along with his brother, using their long-practised good natured bickering to rally Dean's strength.

'So I rest my case Sammy!'

Dean's smile was smug, or would have been were it not for the pain creasing his brow.

Now help me u,...I wanna blow this joint!'

Sam snorted, determined that he would win the argument, then he looked into his brother's pale eyes and just behind the quasi-angry sparkle of determination he could see barely concealed fear; panic that threatened to overwhelm at any minute and a desperate plea to get him out of this place of pain.

Sam nodded, signifying that he understood that Dean was just about holding it together and that he could last that little bit longer but only a little bit.

'OK Dean'

Sam looked to Jo and saw understanding in her eyes too.

'Let's get you up then!'

As gently as possible, they raised the injured man to his very shaky feet with Sam taking the lion's share of Dean's weight.

Sam wrapped Dean's less damaged right arm around his shoulders, stooping so as not to pull on his broken and bruised ribs any more than necessary, and grasped left side belt loops to stabilise his grip.

Jo, nestled into Dean's other side, her arm around his waist, similarly locking onto the waist of his tattered jeans, allowing his left arm to rest against her without jarring his shattered shoulder.

The manoeuvre cost Dean heavily in pain terms, and by the time he was upright sweat was running from his temples and his breathing was rapid and laboured. Jo cast a glance at Sam and saw his anxiety in his wide eyes.

'How you doing Dean?'

Sam's voice was soft but urgent and Dean's eye's tracked lazily to find his.

'I'm good Sam, let's go home!'

666

The journey from the cellar through the house was tortuous, each movement jarring one, if not all of Dean's many injuries and his gasps of pain became less and less easy for him to hide as they progressed. Conversely, his strength decreased rapidly as they moved toward the outside and the Impala, and he leaned progressively on Sam and Jo.

Sam asked him frequently if he was OK; how he was doing? And each time Dean responded that he was fine but his voice got quieter and more agonised with each desperate enquiry.

By the time they hit the front door of 'My Tartarus' Dean's legs had all but gone out from under him and his bare feet were dragging on the wood as they struggled down the steps, each descent drawing a frank cry of undisguised pain from their charge.

For the final few steps to the Impala Sam took Dean's weight entirely as Jo leapt ahead to open the door and raise the bench seat to allow access to the full length of the back seat on which to lay Dean. She climbed inside and knelt on the seat, holding out her arms to Sam as he leaned Dean as carefully as he could against the side of the car to catch his breath.

Dean was panting, his breathing shallow and pain-filled as Sam held him up with his back to the side of the car. It was hard to his back and the sweat soaking his T-shirt chilled him in the cold night air. Dean looked up and saw the bright moon, highlighting the tiny scattering of snowflakes as they drifted down, spotting the Impala with wisps of white.

'Snowing...Sam!'

Sam looked into Dean's fluttering eyes, unsure what to make of his brothers remark. He glanced at Jo and saw his anxiety mirrored on her face.

Yeah Dean, it's snowing?'

Dean smiled at him, timing his breathing so he could speak.

'Not loosing...it Sam!...just good to see...outside again!'

Dean held Sam's gaze and saw understanding in the soft brown eyes, understanding for Dean's fear, felt during his time with the daemon, that he would never see the sky again. Sam nodded and moved in towards Dean.

'Yeah Dean, you're out now! Let's get you in the back and you can lie down...'

'No!'

Dean's voice suddenly held some brittle energy and he put a trembling hand to Sam's chest as he reached for him.

'Wanna sit up front Sam!'

Jo scooted to the open car door, twisting her body out so she could see their faces.

'Dean! You need to lie down! You'll be more comfortable.'

Dean shook his head, his hand pushing weakly against his advancing brother's giant form. He coughed, wheezing for breath to speak, agitation plain in his tense body.

'No!'

It was a command and then a plea and Sam looked into Dean's eyes and saw the threat of tears.

'Wanna hear her Sam'

Sam looked confused but could not tear his gaze from Dean's sparkling eyes.

'Engine!'

And Sam understood and nodded. Dean needed to hear the growl and purr of his beloved Impala and hear it from the front, not from a position of weakness in the back seat.

'Sure Dean.'

Sam motioned Jo from the back and she scurried onto the front seat, gently receiving Dean's limp form into her arms, holding him against her as Sam closed the passenger door.

666

The drive to the motel took longer than anticipated as the drifting snow, augmented by an increasingly heavy new fall covered the road making it treacherous.

Sam gripped the wheel and tried to keep his focus on his driving but each swerve of the car or pothole in the blacktop drew a groan from Dean and he found his eyes darting to his brother with alarming regularity.

Dean had initially lain against Jo's right side, her arm around his shoulder, holding him into her warm soft body. However as they drove, she had turned more and more towards him as he had slumped against her, and now his head was cradled by her left arm, resting against her chest, as she endeavoured to keep his weight off his shattered shoulder.

Dean was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open, numbing tiredness weighing down his aching limbs, and the purr of the Impala became a soft beat by which he timed his breathing to deal with the increasingly overwhelming waves of pain.

Jo watched Dean's bruised lips mumbling as she held him as he slipped in and out of consciousness and she looked worriedly at Sam.

'It's alright Jo'

Sam's voice was low so as not to disturb his brother fitful sleep.

'He's counting!'

Sam said by way of explanation, Jo wrinkled her nose in question.

'He counts the beats of songs, or the noise of the engine.'

'I don't understand?'

Sam glanced at Dean, watching his eyes flicker open briefly, and hold his own for that second before squeezing shut again in pain.

'When he hurts bad or when he's scared he counts, always has. Says it helps him focus, get through it, bear the pain!'

Jo nodded, curling her hand into Dean's as he mumbled, and blinking back tears as she felt him weakly reciprocate her touch.

666

Sam finally parked the Impala in the space before their motel rooms and loped to the passenger door, opening it carefully and reaching in to steady Dean as the support of the door was withdrawn.

Sam took in the scene before him and was relieved that they had at last reached the motel but horrified at how drawn and hurt Dean looked as the pale moonlight lit his face. He was barely awake and leaning heavily on Jo as she struggled to keep the pressure off of his worst injuries.

'How are we gonna get him out Sam? I don't think he can stand?'

Sam nodded and handed the key for the motel room ushering Jo to get to and open the door, as he leaned into the car and carefully gathered his injured brother's still body into his strong arms and carried him from the car.

Dean felt tugging and the pressure of Sam's fierce yet gentle embrace and he fought to stifle his cries of pain for a while longer as he relaxed into his brother's arms.

666

The motel bed was old and lumpy and worn and as Sam and Jo carefully lowered Dean down onto it, it struck him that it felt just wonderful!

He wanted to sleep, for about a week, no make that two weeks!

However, Sam had other ideas and Dean groaned as he felt his brother's unmistakable hands painfully examining his right forearm.

'Ouch!'

Dean whispered, opening his eyes and then blinking in the relatively bright light of the room. Sam glanced at him but continued his probing of the laceration the daemon had made as part of the summoning ritual.

'Sam!'

Louder, voice stronger but apparently not strong enough to have Sam get the hint! Try again Dean

'Sam!'

Humm! Not bad! Got them to look at me! Loud enough to stop Sam and to get Jo to turn from the other bed where she was arranging items on the comforter

'What is it Dean?'

Sam's face hovered into view, he was standing at the side of the bed looking directly down at Dean as he lay propped there, his shoulder supported on all the pillows they had in the room.

'Tired out Sammy! It hurts'

Dean repeated with feeling. Sam sat on the bed beside him and the movement of the bed made the room swim in a disorientating manner.

'I know Dean, but we gotta patch you up a bit. You're still bleeding Dude and we gotta sew these up, strap your arm up so you don't hurt it anymore, then you can sleep.'

Sam's heart went out to his brother as he saw the pain and exhaustion in his soft green eyes and hated to put him through any more but knew it had to be done. He leaned in close, talking quietly, for Dean's ears only.

'Can you hang in there a while longer Dean? Do you trust me?'

Dean held his eyes silently for seconds then he watched his big brother draw in a shaky lungful of air.

'Always Sam, I always trust ya!'

666

It took Jo and Sam an hour to clean , suture and dress the large soft tissue wounds on Dean's broken shoulder, his hand, right forearm and on his cheek bone and by the time they had finished all three of them were bathed in sweat. Dean's caused by intense pain and Sam and Jo's by the knowledge that they had hurt him desperately.

His moans of pain had not started immediately but Jo had watched as his capacity to hold in his agony was exceeded and his cries had become more and more pronounced. Still he never once asked Sam to stop and had murmured reassurances to them both when their shaking hands had paused to seek his continued consent.

'Just your shoulder now'

Sam was kneeling with one leg on the bed next to Dean as he lay slumped into the stack of pillows, tight white bandages wrapping his hand and forearm and a neat row of black stitches closing the huge wound in his left shoulder.

'You know the drill Dean?'

Dean looked at Sam, too nauseous to nod as the room was already spinning, but his eyes spoke his reluctant acquiescence.

Jo watched Dean's pale face and her heart went out to him, she didn't know if she could bear to see him go through any more.

'Sam, let's leave his shoulder, do it tomorrow when he's had a chance to rest a bit.'

Sam held Jo's traumatised eyes and understood why she wanted to leave Dean's dislocated shoulder alone. He had been present before when their father had re-located the displaced joint and had heard Dean scream in agony but he also knew that the longer the deformity persisted the more likely it was that long term damage to Dean's arm would occur.

Sam sat on the bed next to his brother and gently lifted his heavily bandaged left hand in his own. The difference in skin temperature between Sam's large warm hand and Dean's was strikingly apparent and although Sam could see Dean start in pain at the motion of his limb, he made no attempt to pull his hand from Sam's embrace.

'Dean, can you feel your hand at all?'

Sam's gaze tracked to his brother's exhaustion smudged green eyes.

'No, Sam...haven't really ...been able to feel much for days,... well apart from when Mikey stuck the... the knife through it!'

Dean's smile was weak and Sam saw the terrifyingly recent memories threatening to steal his brother's apparent composure

'Can you move it?'

'No, hardly at all'

Sam looked back at Jo, his expression giving an answer to her question, and she nodded showing she understood that they had no choice and that she also understood that Sam regretted more than anyone hurting Dean even more.

'OK Dean,'

Sam was reaching for his brother as he spoke easing him forward from the pillows and indicating with his eyes for Jo to move in and sit behind Dean.

'So Jo's gonna hold you whilst I put your arm back in.'

Sam felt Dean's head nod against his chest as he began to lower him back into Jo's waiting arms as she sat behind the injured hunter on the bed mimicking the stack of pillows that she had thrown to the floor. Dean settled against her and she wrapped her arms around his taught abdomen, trying to avoid his broken ribs. His skin was cool under her hands, and she could feel him trembling.

'Hold ...me ...tight...Jo'

Dean voice was apprehensive and she nodded against his head as it leaned on her shoulder. Dean's eyes never left Sam as he rose from the bed and took a firm hold of Dean's bandaged left hand in his right, placing his other on Dean's sutured shoulder.

'You ready?'

Sam looked from below his floppy brown bangs at his brother, and Dean nodded closing his weary eyes.

Sam quickly raised and stretched out his brother's arm, pulling hard on Dean's arm and simultaneously pressing back on his shoulder, fighting to relocate the shattered joint. Sam could feel bone fragments grating beneath his fingers, but the joint was very swollen and the humerus was reluctant to find its socket.

Dean bit his lip as Sam wrenched at his arm, his breath coming in staccato gasps as Jo held him fast in her rib popping embrace. It felt like Sam was trying to rip his arm off and his body was flooded with fierce debilitating waves of nausea and pain.

Sam released his pressure on Dean's arm and gently lowered his arm to the bed, reaching out to his brother as he fought to control his panting. Sweat was running down Dean's body and Jo could feel that the tremble had become wholesale shaking.

'Is ...it...in?'

Dean's question was a ghost of a whisper, his strength spent.

'Not yet'

Sam squeezed his hand on Dean's unhurt shoulder.

'Finish it Sam!'

Sam nodded and stood taking a firm grip again on Dean's hand, noting the fresh blood on the bandages wrapping his wound. He looked at Jo, and she dug her feet into the bed and pulled back opposing Sam's movement as strongly as she could, as he suddenly wrenched ferociously on Dean's arm. Dean's scream was heart wrenching as his arm finally clicked back into its correct anatomical position and tears ran down his face as he passed into unconsciousness.

666

It had taken Sam and Jo a further half hour to finish tending to Dean's broken ribs and to strap his arm to his chest, taking turns to hold him upright as the other wrapped tight white bandages around his bruised body.

And now they sat at the table, their own eyes closing with terrible fatigue, as they nursed cooling coffee mugs, their eyes constantly on Dean as they spoke in soft whispers.

'I'm not sure I understand exactly what happened back there Sam?'

Jo looked through closing lashes into Sam's eyes, which were the colour of expensive, rich chocolate in the dim light, and he brushed a large hand over his sleepy face as he answered.

'Me either Jo but maybe...'

Sam's musings were forgotten as on the bed Dean stirred fitfully, mumbling softly under his breath, and mugs were abandoned as they hastened to the bed.

Dean felt a soft hand touch his forehead and he opened his gritty eyes to find Jo's anxious face close to his own. He could feel her warm sweet coffee fragranced breath on his skin.

'How are you feeling Dean?'

Dean smiled, his eyes struggling to focus on her pretty face.

'Feet...warm!'

Jo glanced at Sam, and Sam pulled the covers off his brother's feet, touching his toes. Dean frowned and pulled his foot away from Sam's big hand.

'Get...off...Sasquatch!'

Dean rolled his head toward Sam a look of annoyance on his face.

'Not been ...warm ...for days!'

Sam laughed then realising what Dean was saying, and drew the covers back over his feet.

'Sorry Dean!'

Jo smiled too and Dean remembered how much he liked her smile.

'You ...look ...tired Jo?'

'I am'

Her hand trailed from his forehead to cup the side of his bruised face and he leaned his cheek into her palm.

'You should sleep...Jo!'

He raised his chin, and indicated the unoccupied bed next to him. Jo glanced at Sam and he nodded as the tiny hunter reluctantly let go her embrace and lay herself down, her eyes never leaving Dean as she moved.

Sam rose and laid the comforter over her. She wriggled closer to the edge of the bed and stretched her hand over to Dean's bed so she could touch her fingers to his arm, desperate not to break their contact as her eyes closed.

Sam moved back to Dean's bed and lifted a glass to his lips helping Dean hold it as he sipped the cool water. Dean nodded his thanks and Sam set the glass down before looking back to Jo. She had succumbed to sleep, and her face had relaxed as she breathed rhythmically under the covers.

As Sam sat down on the bed beside Dean he took in his brother's soft smile as he looked at the sleeping girl.

'She's a great girl!'

Dean trailed struggling eyes to Sam's face, the soft smile lighting up his pale eyes even through his bruises, and Sam saw someone so much younger and more vulnerable than he often saw.

'You like her, don't ya?'

Sam expected all of Dean's usual denials and then some, and so was surprised when Dean momentarily dropped his eyes, his jaw clenching, before regaining Sam's watchful eyes, his soul suddenly laid bare in iridescent jade.

'Yeah... I do...Sam!'

Dean moved his right arm to his ribs as he spoke and Sam saw increasing pain leeching his smile.

'She's tough and funny'

'She could be good for you Dean'

Sam held his brother's eyes seeing the hesitancy there.

'Don't ...know Sammy! We don't ...exactly have a stable life to ...to offer anyone do we?'

Dean coughed, talking taking more breath than he could get into his struggling lungs, and the movement tore a reluctant cry of pain from him.

Sam reached forward, placing a hand on Deans wrapped chest trying to steady him, and prevent him further hurting himself. After a second or two Dean relaxed a little and Sam eased him back against the pillows once more.

Dean could feel his grip on consciousness failing, his eyes were so heavy that he could barely keep them open and he felt Sam pulling the covers further over him. He hated to feel so fragile, it scared him. He sought his brother's face.

'I ..h...h...hurt ...Sammy!'

It was a simple sentence but so laden with exhaustion, pain and fear that it shocked Sam. He wanted so badly to make Dean's pain disappear, to make him feel safe again like Dean had always been able to do for him when he was a child. He reached out and carefully placed his hand over Dean's as it lay trembling on the covers.

'Sleep Dean. You're safe now! I got ya '

Sam watched Dean gathering his breath to speak and felt him twitch his hand on the bed beneath his own, and Sam reluctantly started to withdraw his hand awaiting Dean's inevitable pushing away of physical contact.

Dean's eyes widened in panic as he felt Sam withdrawing his hand and he gasped out a breathless entreaty knowing that, for tonight anyway, he needed that contact with his brother.

'Don't ..S..Sam!'

'Sorry Dean...'

Sam began to apologise then he looked into his brother's eyes. He saw there the years of sacrifice, courage and responsibility Dean had always shouldered and saw too the look of undisguised vulnerability in those familiar emerald eyes. Sam gently returned his hand to Dean's feeling his brother's calloused fingers grip harshly onto his. He clung to it like his life depended on that contact as maybe it did.

'Sleep Dean, I'm right here. I won't let anything hurt you!'

Sam said with a soft ferocity, and he watched as Dean's face relaxed and his soft green eyes finally closed as he allowed sleep to claim him at last.

The End.

Thanks to you all who have reviewed and sent such nice messages of support. I hope to see some of you again for the sequel, So Not An angel, which I'm bringing over soon. Thanks again. bev xxxx


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